The Night Before His Wedding, My Ex Found Out How I Really Died

The mood in the reunion had turned heavy.

James shot up out of his chair.

He’d known Sienna took that call. Everything she said, he’d authorized.

The thought hit him, and his chest went tight, like he couldn’t pull enough air.

He bolted out of the room and ran toward the nightclub Zoe had mentioned.

The whole way there, his head was a wreck.

Wren.

He couldn’t accept it. The girl he’d hated for two years had been loving him the whole time.

These two years, he’d been bringing Sienna to galas and high-end dinners. But in the back of his mind, he kept going back to that little apartment and the days he and Wren had spent there.

They’d been broke, but it was a good kind of broke.

Wren had landed a job, and her first paycheck she’d spent on a whole set of paint brushes for him.

He’d been heartsick and told her not to waste money on him like that.

She didn’t see it that way.

“Waste? Working for your dream is my dream too.”

He’d held her so tight in that moment that he could barely let go.

He got to the club and went straight to the back, to the cleaning area.

A woman’s silhouette moved behind a curtain.

He yanked it open.

He had known it. He had known Wren was still alive.

These two years had just been so hard on her. She was trying to get his attention again, that was all.

This time, James had no complaints left. As long as she was alive, lies, fake poverty, fake pity, fake death, he didn’t care. He’d take all of it.

“Wren!”

The woman whipped around.

“Who the hell are you? This is the women’s room. Get out.”

He stumbled back a few steps.

“Where’s Wren?”

“The one who used to be here?”

The woman rolled her eyes at him and snapped, “Dead.”

He went still.

The last shred of hope was gone.

It felt like something had driven straight through his chest, and he couldn’t breathe.

“What are you still standing here for? You want Wren? Go to the cemetery. Heard she couldn’t even afford a plot. Got the cheapest one they had.”

His ears were ringing.

On his way out, somebody recognized him.

“You’re James Thorne, right? I’m the owner.”

The man held out a ticket to an art exhibit. “Heard some of your paintings are in it. Wren left this ticket before she passed. I never had time to go, and honestly, I’m not an art guy. Might as well give it back to its real owner.”

James took the ticket. The painting on the front was one he knew by heart.

He followed the address to the museum.

It was already night, and they were almost closing.

He dragged himself in, gallery after gallery, until he found one called Chasing the Dream.

“Artist: James Thorne.”

He read it out loud and realized that somewhere along the way, his face had gotten wet.

The paintings in that room were ones he’d worked on day and night, back when they were together.

When Wren’s grandmother got sick, he’d had to sell them off, all of them, for nothing.

And now she’d given them back to him, in her own way.

He went from one painting to the next. Then the room started to spin, and his knees gave way.

His phone rang. It was his mother.

“James, where are you? Sienna says you took off from the reunion. She’s beside herself looking for you.”

He braced himself against the wall and slid down to the floor.

“Mom. Before Wren and I broke up, did you make her life hard?”

His mother’s voice was very steady.

“Make her life hard? No.”

“That was her choice. If she’d wanted to stay and live poor with you, I wouldn’t have had a word to say.”

“Stop lying to me.” His voice cracked. “Her job. What happened to her job? Why did she suddenly lose it? Why was she on the street, ending up cleaning bathrooms? You knew. Didn’t you.”

A long silence.

“We’ll talk when you come home.”

The line cut off.

A cold wave hit him, and his chest seized. A mouthful of blood came up.

He collapsed.