Half an hour before the wedding rehearsal dinner, I told the wedding planner to delete the video they'd prepared.

Her face went white.

"Miss Sullivan, that wedding video took three months to edit. Both sets of parents and all the relatives are waiting to see it."

I handed her a USB drive.

"Play this instead."

She opened the file. Ten seconds in, her fingers froze on the mouse.

"Are you sure you want to show this?"

I looked at the huge LED screen at the front of the banquet hall.

It was supposed to play the memories of Eugene James and me falling in love.

But we barely had any. So few that half of the three-minute video was filler shots of scenery.

I'd always told myself he just wasn't good at expressing things.

Until last night, when I found his cloud account still logged into the old phone he'd handed down to me, and inside it, a folder called:

"Three Thousand Days for Sheila Swanson."

Everything tender he had never given me was saved in there.

That was the moment I finally understood.

It wasn't that he couldn't love someone. He just couldn't love me.

So today, I put his three thousand days up on the big screen at the rehearsal dinner.

I don't want this wedding anymore.

But these eight years, I was going to make everyone see them clearly.

...

The screen lit up.

Not a photo of Eugene and me together. A split screen, left and right.

On the left, Sheila sat in front of a cake, eyes curved in a smile, Eugene's hand entering the frame to light her candles.

His voice was very soft. "Happy birthday, Sheila."

On the right, the message I'd sent him that same day.

"I'm at the restaurant. The food's going cold."

Below it, his reply.

"Working late. Don't wait up."

A murmur swept through the banquet hall.

The next clip. On the left, a snowfield.

Sheila crouched beside a snowman, nose red with cold, and Eugene laughed and said:

"Keep your gloves on, or you'll freeze and cry again."

On the right, me with a 102-degree fever, asking him in the chat:

"Can you come home tonight?"

He said:

"Sheila wants to see the snow, I'll stay with her a while. Take your fever meds."

The next clip. On the left, a rooftop.

Sheila was wrapped in Eugene's coat, shoulders shaking as she cried, and Eugene said:

"I'm here. Don't be afraid."

On the right, a photo from the ER.

An IV stand. A notice slip: acute upper gastrointestinal bleeding.

I'd called him six times with no answer. The last message was his reply to me:

"Something happened to Sheila. Stop making a scene."

I heard Sarah James suck in a breath, but she recovered fast, slapping the table and standing up.

"Turn it off! What is all this garbage!"

Nobody moved.

The planner glanced at me. I nodded, and the screen kept playing.

On the left, Sheila leaning out a car window, letting the wind blow over her.

On the right, the chat from when I'd sent Eugene photos of wedding dresses. I asked him:

"Do you think this one looks good?"

He replied:

"They all look about the same."

And that same night, on the left, he texted Sheila:

"A mermaid cut suits you. You've got a thin waist."

The hall finally erupted.

"What is this supposed to mean? The groom's gone way too far."

"Who is that woman?"

"Didn't they say the bride and groom dated for eight years?"

That was when Eugene shoved the door open and walked in.

He still had the car keys in his hand, and behind him came Sheila, limping.

Sheila wore a white knit dress, her hair loose over her shoulders, her eyes red.

The moment she came in and saw the screen, the color drained from her face.

Eugene rushed to the front in a few strides.

"Sally Sullivan, what are you doing?"

I picked up the mic.

"Playing your love memories."

He was holding his temper down.

"Are you out of your mind? All these people here, and you have to make a scene like this?"

I looked at him.

"So you do know there are people here?"

Sheila spoke up at once.

"Sally, I'm sorry, this is all my fault. I twisted my ankle, and Eugene was just taking me to the hospital."

I looked at her foot.

"Minor soft-tissue bruising. Doctor recommended a cold compress and observation."

I opened my phone and put the screenshot of her ER chart up on the screen.

"Eugene sat with you through two hours of icing that ankle, and missed his own rehearsal dinner for it."

Sheila's lips trembled.

Eugene frowned.

"She was alone at the hospital. I couldn't just leave her."

I nodded.

"Then go on looking after her."

I slid the engagement ring off my finger and set it in the tray beside me.

"I'm not marrying him."

Sarah rushed over.

"Sally, what nonsense is this? The invitations are out, the venue's paid for—where does that leave the James family's face?"

I looked at her.

"Ma'am, your son's face already played out on that screen just now."

Her fingers shook with anger.

"It's perfectly normal for a man to have someone he can't quite let go of before the wedding. Blowing it up on a big screen—that's you with no sense of proportion!"

I laughed.

"So you knew."

Sarah choked on the word.

I went on.

"You knew he had someone he couldn't let go of, and you still wanted me to marry him. Did you think I was easygoing, or did you think my father was easy to push around?"

My father stood up, his face like iron.

"The James family cares about face. My family, the Sullivans, don't?"

Eugene finally panicked.

"Sir, it's not like that."

My father didn't look at him.

"Don't call me sir."

Eugene's face went white for a moment.

I pulled the USB drive out of the player. He thought it was over; his shoulders visibly eased.

I looked at him and smiled.

"What are you in such a hurry for?"

He froze.

Then I took out a second USB drive.

"What just played was how you loved her."

"This next part is how she taught me to swallow it."

The color drained from Sheila's face.

"Sally—"

I pressed play, and a voice message popped up on the big screen.

Sheila's soft voice filled the banquet hall.

"Sally, you know what? Eugene says a woman like you is the best kind to marry, because you don't need any coddling."

When that message finished, the hall went so quiet you could hear the hum of electricity.

Sheila stood in the doorway, tears on her face, unable to get out a single word.

She used to love sending me voice messages.

Because she knew I wouldn't dare make a scene, and knew I couldn't bear to put Eugene in a hard spot.

She thought I'd endure it forever. But she forgot that endurance has an expiration date too.

I opened the second one.

"Sally, stop always asking him whether he loves you. Men hate that most. Eugene says you can handle everything yourself, not like me, I fall apart without him."

The third one.

"It's your birthday today? Sorry, I didn't know. But I'm really in a bad way right now, and he says you're mature, you won't hold it against me."

The fourth one.

"Don't blame him for not going to the hospital. He says you're very strong, it's just signing a form, don't make yourself out to be so pitiful."

My father's hand clenched hard.

I didn't look at him. I was afraid one glance would break me.

That year, with the stomach bleed, I was in so much pain I couldn't straighten up. The nurse handed me the consent form and told me to notify my family.

I called Eugene. He didn't pick up. Later he texted back one line:

"Sheila's up on the rooftop. Don't add to the trouble."

I signed the form alone, my hand shaking so hard I had to write my name twice before it came out clearly.

That night I thought: if I died on the operating table, Eugene wouldn't find out until the next day.

But he wouldn't regret it for long, because Sheila was still crying.

Another text popped up on the screen.

From Sheila:

“Sally, don't act like the victim. He wants to come to me. That means I need him more than you do.”

Eugene finally reacted, rushing up onto the stage to pull the cable.

I stepped in front of the screen.

“What, can't listen to any more of it?”

His voice went tight.

“When did you get these?”

“Plenty of times.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

I laughed.

“Tell you, so you could call me oversensitive?”

His face turned ugly.

Sheila ran over, crying.

“It's not like that, Eugene. I was just hurting so much back then. I didn't mean any harm.”

I looked at her.

“Sheila, your best trick is that every single time you hurt someone, you cry first.”

She shook her head.

“Sally, you've got it wrong. I really just lean on him.”

I asked,

“Lean on him enough to know my birthday, and say you'd been dumped on purpose?”

I opened a screenshot. It was one of the bragging pictures Sheila had once sent me.

She'd marked out Eugene's schedule down to the last detail.

My birthday. The dress fitting. The marriage license appointment. The rehearsal dinner.

Next to each one, the same line.

“Get him to come over.”

The second those words appeared, Eugene's face went completely white.

“Sheila?”

Sheila panicked.

“That's not what you think it is. I was just scared you were too busy and would forget me.”

I looked at Eugene.

“She was scared you'd forget her.”

“So on my birthday, she got dumped.”

“The day I had a stomach bleed, she was up on the roof.”

“The day I tried on my dress, the lights broke in her place.”

“Tonight, at the rehearsal dinner, she twisted her ankle.”

I paused.

“Eugene, do you really think all of this is a coincidence?”

Eugene looked at Sheila, and for the first time what was in his eyes wasn't tenderness. It was the look you give a stranger.

Sheila cried harder.

“Eugene, I didn't, I was just so afraid that after you got married you wouldn't want me anymore.”

Sarah stepped in front of her at once.

“Enough! The poor girl has no parents to love her, so she clings to Eugene a little, what's wrong with that? Sally, you're a bride-to-be, squabbling with her over things like this. Have you no shame?”

I looked at Sarah.

“As long as you don't feel ashamed, that's fine.”

I kept projecting my phone. This was another screenshot Sheila had sent me.

Sarah had texted her:

“The passcode to the marital home is Eugene's birthday.”

“Sally's at work during the day, so just go by in the daytime to pick up your things.”

“She's soft. She won't say anything.”

Sarah's face went livid.

My father finally couldn't hold back and walked to my side.

“Sally, let's go.”

I nodded.

Eugene put out a hand to stop me.

“Sally, let's talk in private.”

I looked at his hand.

“Move.”

“I didn't know Sheila had sent you these.”

“There's a lot you didn't know.”

His voice went hoarse.

“Give me one chance. I'll deal with it.”

I looked at Sheila.

She was still crying, but her hand had a death grip on Eugene's cuff.

All at once I felt very tired.

“Eugene, you don't have to choose between her and me.”

He froze.

I said,

“I'm out.”

“From now on, whoever needs to comfort her can comfort her.”

“I'm done playing along.”

As I reached the door, the planner came after me.

“Miss Sullivan, do you still want the original video files from the wedding?”

I stopped.

“Which one?”

She hesitated a moment.

“That blessing video from your mother.”