After Seven Years of Suffering, I Finally Broke Free

The moment I pulled back the curtain to try on the wedding dress, Frederick Shaw answered his phone—with his first love.

He stood with his back to me, whispering words of comfort into the receiver for half an hour.

The shop assistant awkwardly complimented me on how beautiful I looked.

I looked at myself in the mirror, wearing the white wedding dress, and felt like a clown.

Half an hour later, Frederick turned around, without so much as a glance at me, and said,

"Emily’s having a breakdown; she’s threatening to jump off a building. I have to go."

"You can choose the dress. Don’t try to save money."

I didn’t look at him either and removed my veil in front of the mirror.

"Go ahead."

Anyway, this is the last time I’ll wear a wedding dress for him.

——

Frederick left in a hurry.

He didn’t even notice his car keys had fallen on the carpet; the shop assistant had to pick them up and run after him to hand them over.

The fitting room was empty except for rows of expensive gowns hanging silently.

The sales assistant asked cautiously, "Ms. Sinclair, are you… satisfied with this? Mr. Shaw might have something urgent."

I glanced down at the lace on the skirt—intricate, delicate—much like the tangled seven-year relationship between Frederick and me.

This dress had taken three months to customize, was air-freighted, and cost six figures.

Frederick hadn’t even flinched when he swiped his card.

He thought money could solve everything—even my emotions.

"Help me take this off," the sales assistant said, surprised.

"Aren’t you going to order it?"

"It doesn’t fit."

I turned, staring at the expressionless woman in the mirror.

"It doesn’t fit anywhere." The foundation around my eyes was caked, the lipstick too pink.

I’m clearly not young anymore, but I still can’t accept it.

Just like I can’t accept that Frederick no longer loves me.

I picked up my bag, opened the door, and walked out.

I didn’t take a taxi. I walked slowly, along every inch of the streets Frederick and I once walked together.

Shop windows displayed the latest seasonal styles.

Young couples walked hand in hand.

The sweet scent of popcorn and roasted sweet potatoes filled the air.

Today is May 20th.

How ironic.

My phone vibrated in my bag.

A message from Ryan Jacobs: ["I heard you went to try on wedding dresses? How was it? Did you stun everyone?"]

I stopped and replied: ["Stunning is a good word, but it’s used in the wrong place."]

Ryan answered instantly: ["? What’s going on? That bastard Frederick pulling his tricks again?"]

"Yeah." I didn’t reply further and shoved the phone back into my bag.

Ahead, the intersection light was red.

The taillights formed a river of light, so bright it hurt my eyes.

I remembered seven years ago, at a similar intersection.

Back then, Frederick rode a secondhand electric scooter, and I clung tightly to his waist.

It was windy, and he shouted, "Lydia, I’ll make sure you ride in a car without wind from now on!"

Now, he’s done it.

But the passenger isn’t me anymore.

I got home at nine.

The moment I opened the door, a strange perfume hit me.

My gray linen slippers were gone.

In their place, a pair of pink slippers with fluffy rabbit ears—clearly too small—sat in the middle, as an intruder asserting dominance.

I stared at them for a few seconds, then nausea washed over me.

The living room light glowed warm and yellow.

Frederick sat on the leather sofa, holding a woman who was sobbing in his arms.