After Forgetting Me, He Regretted Seeing Me Marry Someone Else

Theron Carter and I had been together for six years.

But just three days before our wedding, he publicly declared his reunion with his first love.

Without a second thought, I calmly turned around and found a college guy to take his place to marry me.

Right there and then, I stood calm and composed, watching as he carried on like nothing was amiss.

On our wedding day, I boldly moved and swapped out the groom, leaving Theron stunned and speechless.

…

By the time my phone buzzed, the clock had already struck ten. It was the wedding planner again, nudging me to finalize the dress selection.

I opened the chat and noticed the message I had sent Theron that morning asking for his opinions, which were still unanswered.

When I tried calling him, the line was dead, and his phone was completely off.

Later, I found out he’d been wrapped up in the bachelor party his friends threw for him, so I brushed it off without a second thought.

As I casually scrolled through my feed, I spotted a new post from him, made only ten minutes earlier.

In the post, there she was, Lyra Adamson, his first love, with her elegance and allure even more captivating than they were six years ago.

They had drawn half a heart on each of their cheeks with lipstick, and together, their faces completed a perfect heart, a picture-perfect romance straight out of a fairy tale. The caption read, [We are still us.]

That was Theron’s first public post in six years. At that moment, my heart raced, and time seemed to stand still.

Suddenly, it all unveiled the truth; no wonder my messages pleading for answers had been left in the dark.

Through thick and thin, Theron and I endured all our challenges back then. We shared countless tender moments, yet he never posted a photo of us or let our relationship shine in the public eye.

No matter how much I cried my heart out and pleaded, he would brush it off with, “Come on, love, we see each other every day. There’s no need for all that.”

Only now did it hit me: it wasn’t about the need. To him, I had always been nothing more than a shadow, unimportant and easily overlooked.

For six years, I’d wrapped myself in excuses for his coldness, holding on to my stubborn faith. Now, it all seemed like a cruel joke.

When Theron’s friends caught wind of our wedding, I overheard one exclaim, “You’re going to marry? Is this part of your scheme? You’ve pulled out all the stops this time!”

Back then, I had been blind to Theron's sidelong glances, confidently proclaiming, “Of course! We have been in love for six long years!”

Those words felt like nothing more than a regretful whisper when the truth lay bare before me.

Maybe I wouldn't have fallen apart if it had been just a social media post. But a week ago, I stumbled upon tens of thousands of encrypted photos in his cloud storage.

Each shot was a snapshot of Lyra’s ever-changing smile from high school to college.

My furiousness erupted like wildfire when his sea of deception was laid bare, sparking our first real argument.

He shrugged it off, insisting he had forgotten to delete the photos. But I knew it was just another lame excuse, a last-ditch effort to make me swallow his line of nonsense.

Then he turned the tables, accusing me of invading his privacy. There wasn’t a trace of remorse in his voice, nor did he offer comfort for my wounded heart.

We had been giving each other the cold shoulder for a whole week.

Out of the blue, he had proposed to me, and I took it as a sign that he was finally backing down.

I steered clear of mentioning the photos again, immediately saying yes, fearing any hesitation might make him reconsider. Eager to seize the moment, I immediately contacted the wedding planners.

The whirlwind wedding, rushed into place in three days, felt like a mad dash, but I couldn’t have been happier.

Until his social media post jolted me back to reality, I rubbed my sore eyes, fingers trembling as I hovered over the send button for a breakup message.

I typed "breakup" into the text box, but just as I was about to hit send, one of Theron's friends called me.

“Hey Avery! Theron had too much to drink and could barely stand. Can you come pick him up? I’ll text you the address,” his friend urged, sounding frantic.

Theron’s slurred voice came through the line as I listened, calling for “Lyra.” My heart clenched with a sharp, painful ache, and I struggled to comprehend the depth of my sorrow.

In a heartbeat, his friend ended the call and hung up. I took a deep breath, massaged my aching temples, and hurriedly threw on some clothes to head out.

But just as I was about to leave, my eye caught a glimpse of something Theron had carelessly discarded by the door.

It was the handmade fabric photo album I’d poured my heart into for our sixth anniversary, meticulously crafted over a month.

Yet, he had dismissed it as meaningless and carelessly tossed it aside, barely glancing at it.

I sighed, ready to shove the album into the cupboard. But as I swung open the door, a cascade of unopened boxes spilled out. They were all the carefully chosen couple’s keepsakes I’d picked out for us, each still wrapped in its original packaging, untouched and forgotten.

I was brimming with frustration as I snatched the trash bin and threw all the couple’s keepsakes into it.

After tossing out the garbage, I hailed a taxi and sped off to the address his friend had sent, feeling like I was racing against time.

As I drew closer to the private room, the laughter from inside wafted through the door like an unwelcome breeze, teasing me with the celebration I was about to crash.

"Theron lost again! Truth or dare? You didn’t throw the game just to cozy up to Lyra, did you?" his friend teased, laughing.

I took a steadying breath, forced a smile to my lips, and gently pushed the door open.

The room fell silent; their laughter was cut short as every head turned toward me, panic flashing across their faces.

At the center of it all sat Theron, the man I was supposed to marry in just three days, leaning far too close to Lyra.

They leaned in, the playing card pinned between their lips, so close their lips hovered inches apart, as if a whisper could close the gap.