The day before the wedding, my fiancé skipped the rehearsal.

That night, I received his texts:

Claudia's pregnant. The baby isn't mine.

But I need to get legally married to her first, so the child can be registered.

Our wedding will be postponed another three years. Let's not contact each other during that time.

You figure out how to explain things to both families. Whatever you do, don't damage Claudia's reputation... Just tell everyone you're the one who doesn't want to get married for now.

I replied with a single word:

Okay.

Because I truly didn't want to marry him anymore.

……

Almost simultaneously, his childhood sweetheart posted on Instagram.

The photo showed two hands wearing matching couple's rings, fingers forming a heart shape.

Inside the heart was an ultrasound, showing a seven-week embryo.

The caption read:

He said he's going to give us a family.

In the comments, Harrison Delgado's friends liked the post one after another, congratulating them on finally making it official, promising to bring generous gifts tomorrow.

Not a single person mentioned me.

As if tomorrow's wedding had always been meant for the two of them, and I had nothing to do with it.

I gave a bitter smile and liked the post.

Then left a comment:

Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!

My comment blended right in among the chorus of well-wishes. Nothing out of place.

But the next second, the comment was deleted.

Harrison's call came immediately after, his voice dripping with impatience.

"Tilda Johnson, what the hell was that? You left that comment on purpose to start something?"

I was speechless.

"I wasn't starting anything. I genuinely wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

But Harrison couldn't hear the sincerity in my words. He'd already decided I was trying to cause trouble.

"Cut it out. You think I can't tell whether you're being sincere?"

"Everyone knows tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding. You pop up out of nowhere with that passive-aggressive little comment just so people will laugh at Claudia?"

"Apologize to her! She hasn't stopped crying because of what you wrote!"

From the other end of the phone came the sound of a woman sobbing.

"Harrison, forget it! I shouldn't have asked for your help. I'll go schedule the procedure and get rid of the baby. So what if I can never be a mother? That's still better than being called a homewrecker!"

Harrison's voice went soft instantly, coaxing Claudia Simmons like she was a child.

"Claudia, you are not a homewrecker. Once we get the marriage certificate tomorrow, we'll be legally married. Recognized by law."

"Don't listen to people who run their mouths without thinking. If anyone dares laugh at you, I'll shut them up myself."

But Claudia only cried harder.

"What about Tilda, though? She must be so heartbroken. I should just go get rid of the baby, and you two can have your wedding tomorrow like planned..."

Harrison's voice grew even softer, edged with panic.

"Claudia, I already worked everything out with her. She just has to wait three more years and she'll get what she wants. It's not like I'm going to disappear on her."

"Stop crying, okay? Your stomach's going to start hurting again."

"And if your eyes are all swollen from crying, how are you going to be a beautiful bride tomorrow?"

Claudia broke into a teary laugh.

Harrison let out a breath of relief. When he spoke to me again, his tone had softened considerably.

"Tilda, why aren't you saying anything? Hurry up and apologize to Claudia."

I clenched my fists, furious at myself for liking and commenting in the first place.

But I hadn't done anything wrong. Why should I apologize?

"Harrison, what if I say no?"

He faltered for a second, then raised his voice in disbelief.

"Tilda, keep this up and you're going to embarrass yourself! Claudia is pregnant. Her emotions are fragile enough as it is, and you deliberately made her cry. Do you have any sense at all?"

"Fine, don't apologize then. But you'd better make up for it with action. Go tell our friends and family right now that you're the one who called off the wedding!"

As if terrified I'd refuse, he hung up immediately.

Then he sent me a text:

Tilda, I'm begging you, please stop making a fuss. I'm just getting a marriage certificate with Claudia. It's a piece of paper, nothing more. It doesn't mean anything. Canceling the wedding is just so we can save your dream wedding for the perfect moment.

Those familiar words stung my eyes until they burned.

The perfect moment.

I'd been hearing that for eight years. Nearly three thousand days and nights, waiting for him to marry me.

And instead, I'd waited just long enough to watch him become someone else's legal husband.

Harrison, I'm done waiting for you.

Because we were never right for each other.

Harrison recalled the message.

Then a new one came through:

What I just sent isn't something Claudia should see. She's pregnant and reads too much into things. Anyway, just do what I asked. Whatever I owe you, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you after the three years are up!

I laughed out loud.

I waited two minutes. Sure enough, he recalled that message too.

So which was it? Was he lying to me, or to himself?

If he was simply helping Claudia out of obligation, why would he care if she got upset over promises he'd made to me?

The baby in her belly wasn't even his, and he was already willing to go this far for her.

What if the baby was his?

I shook my head, banishing the thought before it could take root.

I typed a quick OK and hit send.

All I got back was a red exclamation mark.

He'd already deleted me. Couldn't wait to make Claudia feel better.

Fine by me.

I didn't dwell on it. I posted on social media announcing that the wedding was off.

People started asking why almost immediately.

Not wanting to stir up drama, I stuck to Harrison's script and said I just wasn't ready to get married yet.

But my friends flooded my inbox telling me I was out of my mind:

"Tilda, Harrison isn't some broke nobody anymore. Every woman in the city would throw herself at him. You call off the wedding now and you're basically gift-wrapping your man for someone else!"

I didn't reply.

Because Harrison was already someone else's husband.

Shortly after my post went up, Claudia sent me a photo of the marriage certificate.

Her tone dripped with triumph as she thanked me for stepping aside.

Tilda, thanks for the assist! Harrison and I were supposed to get the certificate tomorrow, but he pulled some strings and got it done today just to make me happy!

I didn't bother responding. Delete. Block. Done.

My phone buzzed. My mother was calling to chew me out.

"What is wrong with you? The fruit's hanging right there and you won't pick it? What kind of stunt are you pulling? By the time you decide you want to get married, he might not want you anymore!"

I let out a quiet laugh.

"What if he's the one who doesn't want to marry me?"

She went silent for a beat, then laid into me even harder.

"Then you obviously did something wrong! Swallow your pride, say something sweet, patch things up. Don't tell me you followed that man for all those years just to walk away with nothing!"

Eight years loving Harrison, and his refrain never changed: career first, family later.

But when success finally came, when he had the house and the car, it wasn't a home with me he wanted to build.

It wasn't that I hadn't tried. Trying just didn't matter.

For eight years, I'd been by his side through every struggle. The basement apartment. The instant noodles. I'd swallowed my pride and told him a thousand times that marrying him was all I'd ever dreamed of, rich or poor.

I'd even given up three pregnancies.

Because he said the timing wasn't right. He didn't want a child suffering alongside them.

I loved him, so whatever he said, no matter how much it hurt, I went along with it.

Just like tonight, when he told me he wanted to get legally married to his childhood sweetheart.

In that moment, even as my heart was being carved open, I felt something I hadn't expected.

Relief.

Maybe it was better this way. At least I wouldn't have to keep waiting for him like some desperate fool, begging to be chosen.

My mother was still going on about how a woman who knew how to act sweet always got the best deal in life, but the grievance pressing against my chest suddenly lost its need for an audience.

"Mom, the wedding is off. I'm never marrying him."

I hung up and called the wedding planner to cancel tomorrow's ceremony.

The coordinator went quiet for a moment before speaking.

"Mr. Delgado already called about this. But he asked us to keep the decorations and banners in storage for three years. That's going to be difficult. Most of those materials are single-use..."

It hit me instantly. It wasn't that he hadn't had time to notify the guests on both sides.

He just didn't want to deal with the questions.

And he assumed I'd do what those cheap decorations would do—sit in storage and wait for him for three years.

"Throw it all out. Even if it weren't disposable, three years in a warehouse would rot it."

Just like his love for me.

It would decay with time until nothing remained.

After hanging up, I scrolled to my mother-in-law's number and felt a headache coming on.

She despised Claudia Simmons. If she found out her son had already gotten legally married to that woman at City Hall, she'd probably have a stroke.

I took a deep breath and transferred the $88,000 bride price back to her account—every last cent.

I counted to three in my head.

The phone rang.

"Tilda, why did you send the bride price back?"

"Mom, Harrison and I aren't getting married for now. I'm going abroad for three years."

Even though I was telling the truth, Fiona Delgado's sharp instincts picked up on the lie underneath immediately.

"Did that boy do something to wrong you? I'm going over there right now! The wedding tomorrow will go on as planned!"

"Mrs. Delgado, the wedding really can't happen—"

But she'd already hung up.

It was Harrison's turn to figure out how to handle his own mother.

And it was time for me to pack my bags and leave.

The apartment was still dressed for a celebration. Every detail—the red accents, the fresh flowers, the carefully chosen linens—was something I'd picked out, each one a small prayer for the happy life I thought was coming.

Now they were all knives, buried in my chest.

There wasn't much to take. A single suitcase, and it wasn't even full.

But there was plenty to throw away.

By the time I finished, I noticed Harrison had called me several times.

I didn't need to guess why. He was going to blame me for not keeping his mother under control.

I left the key on the entryway table and picked up the last framed wedding portrait on my way out.

I walked straight into Harrison.

The portrait smashed against the floor, the glass shattering into pieces.

A shard sliced across the top of my foot. Blood welled up instantly.

Harrison grabbed Claudia and pulled her behind him, his face tight with irritation.

"Tilda, what the hell? Didn't you see Claudia standing there? What if you'd hurt her?"

He didn't see the blood pooling on my foot. Instead, he crouched down and carefully brushed a speck of glass—no bigger than a grain of rice—off Claudia's shoe.

I had no interest in watching him dote on another woman. I grabbed my suitcase and walked past them.

His eyes caught the luggage, and he scrambled to his feet, seizing my arm.

"Tilda, where are you going?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but his phone rang.

I saw the name on the screen. His mother.

He picked up, visibly annoyed.

"Fine! I know! It's not canceled! I'll smooth things over with her! Don't worry!"

He hung up and turned to me.

"Tilda, my mom says the wedding tomorrow has to go on as planned."

"I don't want to upset her, so let's keep everything the way it is. But can you be the one who runs?"

"My mom loves you. If you're the runaway bride, she won't blame me. And I can explain to her afterward that I only married Claudia on impulse, out of spite."

I stared at him, unable to believe these words had come out of the mouth of the man I'd loved for years.

But then I remembered—he was already Claudia Simmons' husband.