It was a prenatal report—and the patient’s name was Beverly.

The listed conception date made my head spin.

Three weeks pregnant.

Which meant Dominic and Beverly had undergone IVF over a month ago.

He’d never planned to discuss this with me—never intended to ask for my consent.

So why had he hounded me about it daily? To absolve his guilt? What did I even mean to him?

My legs buckled, and I sank to the floor.

I felt my heart clenched, strangling every breath.

No wonder Dominic had rushed out earlier, grinning like a fool after that call.

He’d known. They did a good job. Beverly was pregnant.

He was probably at the hospital with her now, clinking champagne glasses over their twisted “miracle.”

I pressed my palms against my eyelids, but the image of that report burned brighter.

How could the man I’d loved for decades become another woman’s child’s father?

Two months ago, he’d tearfully accepted my proposal. I’d booked the cathedral and chosen a lace gown for our wedding.

I’d imagined his hands steadying mine as we cut the cake. Now those fantasies popped like soap bubbles, leaving only acid in my throat.

My phone buzzed, jolting me back. I answered mechanically.

“Jane!” Emily’s voice crackled with excitement. “I know it’s last-minute, but Dr. Evans begged me to ask again—will you join the Chrysalis Lab? You’d revolutionize his research!”

Six months ago, Dr. Evans had personally offered me the role. The catch? Total isolation—no calls, no emails, no contact for months or even years.

Back then, I’d refused. The thought of losing Dominic terrified me more than missing a Nobel-worthy breakthrough.

“He’s willing to compromise!” Emily rushed on. “Two months in the lab, two weeks off. You’d still have time for Dominic—”

Dominic.

The name now tasted like rust. My eyes drifted to the desk calendar.

October 10th—once circled in glittery pink—now glared back in harsh red Sharpie.

Fifteen days until my wedding.

Fifteen days until freedom.

“I’ll join,” I cut in, voice steadier than I felt. “No compromises. Full protocol.”

“But your honeymoon—”

“Schedule me for the 10th.”

Silence. Then a soft click as Emily hung up, too tactful to ask why I’d chosen my wedding day.

I traced the calendar’s red ring.

Fifteen days to grieve twenty years of love.

Fifteen days until I vanished into a lab—and Dominic Pearson became a ghost.

Dominic didn’t come home that night, and I didn’t call to ask where he was.

I’d already seen Beverly’s social media updates.

After leaving the hospital, they’d rushed to her family’s house to announce the pregnancy. In the photos, Beverly’s grandmother clasped Dominic’s hand warmly while he rested his other palm on Beverly’s belly, smiling like a doting husband.

For five years together, Dominic had only visited my family once—after accepting my proposal. Despite living just 30 minutes away, he’d never bothered before, claiming he “felt awkward around elders.” Even that single visit had been stiffly polite, nothing like the tender ease he showed with Beverly’s family.

I swallowed the bitterness and turned off my phone.

The next day, I met friends to break the news about canceling the wedding.

Dominic had always hated ceremonies, calling them “pointless pomp.” I’d fought to keep ours small—just close family and friends. Now, their shocked reactions stung:

“You’ve loved him for decades! You finally bagged your ‘hard-to-get prince’ and you’re just… letting go?”

Letting go.

The words needled me. Of course it wasn’t easy. Twenty years of chasing him, only to walk away weeks before our vows. But I’d finally accepted the truth: this relationship had always been one-sided.

Dominic never paused his stride for me. I’d deluded myself into thinking time would wear down his walls, that marriage would force his heart open.

Then Beverly arrived six months ago—his “lifesaver”—and everything cracked.

I watched him laugh with her, soften for her, care for her in ways he’d never shown me. Even his coldness toward my family vanished around hers. When she was diagnosed with cancer, he didn’t hesitate: IVF, a child, a twisted happily-ever-after.

I didn’t explain the details to my friends. Just said I’d joined a closed-off research lab and would vanish for years. To soften the blow, I drank with them until midnight.

When I stumbled home, Dominic had just returned. He recoiled at the smell of alcohol, covering his nose like I’d brought in sewage.

“Stay back. I don’t want that stench on me.”

I almost laughed. Of course. Beverly’s pregnant—can’t risk contaminating the sacred heir.

But I said nothing, showered, and headed to bed.

As I passed the living room, Dominic was typing furiously on his phone, grin brighter than our engagement photos. I kept walking—until his voice froze me.

“We need to talk.”

The last time he’d said that, he’d dropped the “I want to make a baby with my ex” bomb. Now, with Beverly already pregnant, what fresh hell awaited?

“I can't take wedding photos with you tomorrow.”

My eyes flicked to the calendar where “PHOTOSHOOT” glared under tomorrow’s date.

I had no idea why Dominic wanted to cancel. Honestly, I didn't want to get married anyway. Even if Dominic hadn't said anything, I would have found an excuse to call it off. His suggestion was a huge relief.

I nodded. "Okay, I'll call the photographer and cancel it."

The words were barely out when Dominic's eyes widened. He hadn't expected such a quick, easy agreement.

He'd probably anticipated questions, a whole interrogation.

After all, I'd meticulously planned every detail of the wedding, spending ages researching.

Even the photographer for the shoot was a pricey last-minute addition, secured only after I'd significantly increased the fee to jump the queue. He'd expected a fight.

Instead, I was calm.

Dominic looked at me, his expression a confusing mix of emotions. "Don't cancel," he said.

"Beverly said she'll probably never get married, and she wants to take wedding photos with me, you know, like she's actually been married. It would mean a lot to her," he explained.

"Let's have Beverly join us tomorrow, and we can reschedule our photos later."

His tone was casual, as if discussing dinner plans, just like the day he’d announced his plans for having a child with Beverly.

It was a discussion in form only; his decision was already made. He was simply informing me.

My lowered gaze hid the sarcasm welling up inside.

Later? Dominic didn't know I only had thirteen days left at Concordia. He didn't know there wouldn't be a later.

I quietly agreed and went to bed. The wedding was off; who Dominic took photos with was none of my business.

Dominic watched me go, a vague unease settling in his gut. My calm acceptance, the lack of any protest, left him speechless.

All his carefully prepared arguments were useless. Then Beverly called, and he immediately forgot his worries, heading to the balcony to take the call.

I woke up just as Dominic was leaving.

"After the photos, Beverly and I are going on a short trip," he said, lacing up his shoes. "She's always wanted to go to Hokkaido.

Let's keep the wedding simple. I won't have time for rehearsals or decorations. You decide everything; no need to check with me."

"Okay," I replied, swallowing a bite of toast.

Simple. No wedding photos, no guests, no officiant. No bride.

Dominic noticed my quiet breakfast, a strange feeling growing inside him. He hesitated, then added, "Let's go to Europe for our honeymoon after the wedding. You always wanted to go."

In the past, the offer of a honeymoon would have sent me into a frenzy of planning. I'd always wanted to travel with him, but he'd always refused, claiming he didn't enjoy it and found it too tiring.

Now, I just concentrated on my breakfast, saying nothing. No wedding, no honeymoon.

Dominic looked at me, surprised. He started to speak, but glanced at the clock, then rushed out, muttering, "I'll talk to you later."

I picked up the calendar and drew a large X over "Wedding Photos." Twelve days left.

After breakfast, I started packing, clearing out unnecessary things. A photo album with fewer than five pictures, a dusty projector, unworn matching pajamas…

Five years together.

Every item in the house was carefully chosen, transforming an empty space into a cozy home.

But on closer inspection, much of it was untouched by Dominic. He'd always maintained his independence, even in our relationship, disliking couple's items, feeling they restricted him.

I pushed the thought aside and continued cleaning. These things would only bother him after I left; better to get rid of them now. I'd erase our memories, too.