"Bea's already forgiven you, and Mildred said she won't hold it against you. Let's just drop it."

He reached up to stroke my hair.

His fingers grazed the stains and pulled back instantly.

"Go clean yourself up."

"Oscar."

I watched his retreating back and drew a deep breath.

"Tomorrow is my wedding."

His footsteps halted. He spun around, his patience visibly spent.

"You know perfectly well that every time Bea has an episode, someone has to watch her for a full week. How am I supposed to have time to marry you tomorrow?"

"Janet, can you try being a little more considerate?"

I stared at him, expressionless.

"I'm informing you. I'm not asking."

His face darkened.

"Stop being unreasonable. I told you, I don't have time tomorrow."

"If you want to throw a wedding with no groom, be my guest. The only ones who'll be humiliated are you and your parents."

I clenched my fists and held his gaze.

"My wedding doesn't need you."

He actually laughed.

"Janet, who else would ever marry you?"

The words had barely left his mouth when a loud crash came from the nursery.

My blood ran cold. I crossed the hallway in quick strides and pushed open the door.

Stuffed animals that had been arranged neatly on the shelf were scattered across the floor. The tiny clothes my mother had sewn by hand were cut to ribbons. Beatrice sat on the children's bed my father had built.

Shards of a shattered jar and fine gray powder lay at Mildred's feet.

She blinked her tear-filled eyes, her face a portrait of helplessness and fear.

"I accidentally broke this jar."

Oscar strode past me, shoving me aside in the doorway, and took Mildred's hands in his.

"Mildred, are you hurt?"

Mildred's gaze drifted over Oscar's shoulder and landed on me. A smirk flickered across her lips.

I knew she had done it on purpose.

But I still couldn't stop myself from lunging forward and slapping her across the face.

Mildred clutched her reddening cheek, her voice dripping with wounded innocence.

"I'm sorry. I just saw dust on the jar and wanted to wipe it clean. I never thought it would slip. I really didn't mean to..."

Oscar seized my arm and forced me toward Mildred, trying to make me bow my head.

"Janet, you've gone too far. Apologize!"

"Oscar, that was our child!"

Two years ago, Oscar and I had a baby.

What Mildred shattered was the urn holding our baby's ashes.

Beatrice, catching a silent cue from Mildred, clapped her hands over her ears and ran screaming from the room.

"Bea!"

Mildred chased after her.

Oscar's expression was ugly.

"Look what you've done! The dead aren't more important than the living. Was hitting her really necessary?"

I stared into his eyes, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"Oscar, you know what this nursery means to me. That was your child. How could you possibly—"

"Janet!"

He cut me off, his voice like a blade.

"If you hadn't bullied Bea this afternoon, would I have needed to bring her here to calm her down? Everything I've done has been to make up for your mistakes."

Just then, Mildred's sobbing drifted in from outside.

Oscar panicked instantly. He wrenched my arm free and bolted for the door.

I wasn't braced for it. I fell hard, my forehead striking the floor. Darkness swallowed my vision.

And in that darkness, a memory surged forward—the torrential rainstorm two years ago.

A single phone call from Mildred had pulled Oscar away, leaving me standing on the side of the road in the downpour, five months pregnant.

A drunk driver barreled straight into me.

That night, Oscar knelt beside my hospital bed, slapping himself across the face over and over, begging me to forgive him.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault. I never expected the accident to happen."

"I just didn't want to let Neil down. I never meant to hurt you."

"Janet, I owe you and our baby everything. After we get married, we'll try again. She'll come back to us."

That time, I forgave him again.

But now he was telling me our child meant less to him than Mildred and her daughter.

"Janet."

Oscar's face suddenly loomed large in front of me.

I blinked, trying to separate memory from reality, when Beatrice leaned in close.

"See? I told you she was faking it."

The moment Oscar saw my eyes focus, he shot to his feet and pulled Beatrice behind him, shielding her as though I might lash out again.

I pushed myself up and hadn't even opened my mouth before Mildred rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of me.

"Breaking the urn was my fault. Hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want to me. But Bea is innocent. She's just a child. Please don't hurt her."

Oscar grabbed Mildred's arm and hauled her to her feet, his expression dark as a thundercloud.

"Janet, enough is enough!"

"First you hit someone, and now you're making people kneel to you? What exactly do you want?"

"You're the one in the wrong here. Apologize. Now."

"You're right. It was my fault."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

My fault for being blind. My fault for choosing the wrong person. My fault for making my parents worry all these years.

"I'm sorry."

I was tired. I didn't want to fight them anymore.

Oscar froze. In every argument involving Mildred and her daughter, I had never once backed down. My sudden apology unsettled something in him, and his voice lost its edge.

"I'm not really blaming you. Just... don't lose your temper like that again."

A flash of resentment crossed Mildred's eyes. She tugged at the hem of Oscar's sleeve, her voice small and wounded.

"Oscar, if this nursery was being used to store an urn, I don't think we should stay here. I'm worried Bea will have nightmares sleeping in that room."

"We should just go back to our place. I'm scared her condition might flare up again..."

"I'll go with you."

The words left Oscar's mouth before he could stop them. When his gaze met mine, guilt flickered across his face.

"When Bea has an episode, it gets serious fast. Mildred can't handle it alone. I'll stay with them during the day and come home at night."

I shrugged, indifferent, and turned toward the bedroom.

A moment later, the front door clicked shut.

The three of them were gone.

I stood in the middle of the apartment, surrounded by wedding decorations. Every ribbon, every garland felt like a punchline to a joke no one was laughing at.

After a long, hot shower, I texted a realtor and listed the apartment for sale.

My parents had bought it for Oscar and me.

Since I'd made up my mind to leave, I didn't need it anymore.

I started packing.

That evening, Oscar sent a message.

Bea's having another episode. I won't make it back tonight. Don't wait up. Get some rest. Love you.

Minutes later, Mildred posted on social media.

My daughter said she wanted to see fireworks, so he drove three hundred miles to make it happen.

The photo showed Beatrice perched on Oscar's shoulders, their silhouettes framed against a sky full of light.

I tapped "like," picked up my suitcase, and walked out the door.

That night, the video of me being called a homewrecker at the restaurant went viral.

Friends and relatives who recognized me came forward to set the record straight, and the tide of public opinion turned overnight. The flood of abuse redirected itself squarely at Mildred and Beatrice.

That was when Oscar called. His voice was sharp with fury.

"Janet, you're unbelievable. Sweet to my face and scheming behind my back. You apologize during the day, then spend the night getting your friends and family to trash Mildred and Bea online?"

"If Mildred and Bea do something drastic because of you, I will never forgive you!"

He didn't wait for me to explain.

The line went dead with a sharp click.

Five minutes later, Oscar went live to clear Mildred and Beatrice's names.

"Hi, everyone. I'm the person from today's trending story. Mildred Fox is my wife, and Bea is my daughter. Please don't harass them."

"Janet Summers and I are just friends. I have no idea why she hired people to spread rumors about our relationship online."

After the livestream ended, Oscar sent me a text.

I promised Neil I'd take care of Mildred and Bea. Saying that was the only way to get people to leave them alone.

Stay off the internet for a while. People have short memories. In a few days, no one will even remember your name.

I stared at his messages and laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks.

The last shred of feeling I had for him dissolved into nothing.

The next morning, Oscar came home to find the lock code had been changed.

He called me immediately, demanding answers.

"Janet, what the hell is wrong with you now? You changed the front door code? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you even want me to marry you anymore?"

But the voice that answered wasn't mine. A low, amused laugh came through the receiver.

"Who are you, buddy? What makes you think my wife needs you to marry her?"