When Regret Knocked, But the Door Stayed Closed

Chelsea's POV

I spent three years chasing after Philbert Brown. And now, he’d finally agreed to marry me.

The night before our wedding, at his bachelor party, all our friends were congratulating me, saying I’d finally gotten what I wanted. But then I overheard Philbert laughing as he told his friends, “There’s no such thing as a perfect ending in this world. Since I can’t marry the one I love most, I’ll just settle for someone who loves me.”

His words hit me hard. After thinking it through, I hesitated but eventually spoke up, “You might be right. How about we just cancel the wedding?”

——

“What did you say?” Philbert’s face darkened as he slammed his glass on the table.

Seeing that I had no intention of explaining myself, he let out a cold laugh. “Fine. You’d better mean it.”

Then he turned and left without looking back.

The people around us immediately tried to smooth things over.

“Chelsea, the wedding’s the day after tomorrow—why say something like that out of anger?”

“Philbert’s upset. You should go apologize to him.”

Their eyes were full of disapproval as if I were the one in the wrong.

But I stood there, a bit stunned, not even thinking about chasing after him. It wasn’t until someone nudged me that I snapped out of it.

“Alright, you all go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

I set down my glass and left the private room.

Behind me, I could hear someone reassuring the group.

“Don’t worry, they’ll make up soon. Chelsea never stays mad for more than ten minutes before running after him to apologize.”

But instead of chasing after Philbert like everyone expected, I went home. I took a long, relaxing shower and climbed into bed. For the first time, I realized how freeing it felt not to worry about appeasing someone, not to constantly think about how to keep the peace, and not to tiptoe around someone else’s emotions.

The next morning I woke up, my Instagram was flooded with missed calls and messages. But not one of them was from Philbert.

I scrolled through the messages and saw some defended him.

[Chelsea, Philbert was drunk last night. Don’t take his words to heart.]

Others even tried to persuade me, as read: [Chelsea, you know how things are. Don’t make a lifelong mistake over a moment of anger.]

As I kept scrolling, I accidentally clicked the Stories, which happened to be Philbert's. It was a photo of his car window, seemingly heading to the airport, and was taken at 5 a.m., with a caption: [It’s been a while.]

It suddenly hit me. Someone had casually mentioned last night that Shana Austin was returning to the country today. No wonder Philbert had agreed to cancel the wedding so easily. His first love was back.

While I was lost in thought, that Story suddenly disappeared. He must have deleted it or hidden it from me.

Either way, unlike before, I didn’t feel the urge to refresh his profile, write him a long message, or analyze his emotions. If the wedding was off, I had plenty to take care of.

First things first: delete my ex-fiancé’s contact info.

With a few quick taps, I'd already blocked him. Funny how I’d once spent hours stalking his account, reading into every little post, and replying to his messages with my hands still wet from the shower. Yet now, deleting him felt effortless.

Without dwelling on it, I quickly got to work. I called the wedding planner to cancel everything—getting refunds where I could and transferring or canceling the rest. Once that was done, I drafted apology notes for the guests, explaining the wedding was off.

Expectedly, as the messages went out, my phone began ringing non-stop. But I silently turned it off, pulled my keys from my bag, and headed back to the home I’d carefully decorated.

This apartment was in a location I’d chosen with great care—quiet but not too far from the city center. Even more importantly, the neighborhood was full of scholars and intellectuals. I’d once imagined raising a child with Philbert here, thinking it would be the perfect environment for a family.