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

That evening, I received his text:

Nellie has a terminal illness. She doesn't have much time left.

She loves me so much. I can't go through with a wedding right now and break her heart.

I need to go abroad with her for treatment. A year at least, two at most. I promise I'll come back and marry you.

I need to focus on being there for her during this time, so I might go off the grid. Make up whatever excuse you want for postponing the wedding. If you're worried about how it looks, put the blame on me.

I replied with one word:

Okay.

If this engagement continued, that would be the real embarrassment.

……

Almost simultaneously, Nellie Simmons posted on social media.

The photo showed the two of them with freshly shaved heads, cheeks pressed together. In their clasped hands were two plane tickets to France.

The caption read:

He said he'll never let me die, because love can cure anything.

In the comments, Mark Rowe's friends lined up to like the post, praising his selflessness and pledging to do whatever they could to help with Nellie's illness.

Not a single person mentioned me.

As if tomorrow's wedding was never supposed to exist in the first place.

I gave the post a bitter smile, then hit "like."

And left a comment:

Wishing you a speedy recovery!

My comment blended right in among the flood of well-wishes. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But a second later, it was deleted.

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

"Grace Thornton, what the hell was that? You left that comment on purpose just to start something?"

I was speechless.

"I wasn't starting anything. I genuinely wished her good health."

Mark had already made up his mind that I was causing trouble.

"If you were genuine, you'd do what everyone else did and just send money instead of sitting there being petty and jealous!"

"Nobody brought up the wedding because they didn't want to make Nellie uncomfortable, and then you go and pop up with that 'speedy recovery' nonsense, rubbing salt in the wound!"

"Apologize to Nellie! She can't stop crying because of your comment!"

A woman's sobbing drifted through the phone:

"Mark, forget it! I shouldn't have told you about my diagnosis. The doctor said I don't have long. I need to stop clinging to unrealistic fantasies! I'll cancel the tickets right now. I can't be so selfish as to ruin your wedding just because I'm dying!"

Mark's voice softened instantly, coaxing her like a child:

"Nellie, just because they can't treat it here doesn't mean there's no hope overseas! How could a wedding be more important than your life? No matter how long treatment takes, I'll be right there with you. Until you're better."

Nellie only cried harder:

"But what about Grace? She must be so heartbroken. I'll just go abroad alone. You two can have your wedding tomorrow as planned..."

His voice grew even softer, edged with urgency:

"You think I'd let you go alone? The surgical consent forms need a family member's signature. Who would you have?"

"I already worked things out with Grace. She just has to wait two years, tops, and then she gets what she wants. It's not like I'm going to run off and disappear."

"Stop crying, okay? You're going to make yourself short of breath again."

"And if your eyes are all swollen tomorrow, what happens at the airport when they check your passport and say the photo doesn't match?"

Nellie laughed through her tears.

Mark let out a breath of relief, then turned his attention back to me, his tone marginally less sharp:

"Grace, why aren't you saying anything? Hurry up and apologize to Nellie!"

My nails dug into my palms. I cursed myself for ever clicking on that post, for ever leaving that comment.

But I wasn't wrong. Why should I apologize?

"Mark, what if I say no?"

He faltered for a beat, then his voice rose in disbelief:

"Grace, keep this up and you're only making yourself look bad! Nellie is sick. The last thing she needs is emotional stress, and you're deliberately making her cry. Do you have any idea how selfish that is?"

"Fine, don't apologize. But you'd better make up for it with action! Call everyone and tell them you're the one who called off the wedding!"

Before I could refuse, he hung up.

Then a text came through:

"Grace, I'm begging you, please stop making a scene. I'm just going with Nellie for her treatment. It's not like I'm never coming back to marry you. Canceling the wedding is just so we can save your dream ceremony for the perfect time."

Those familiar words stung, burning behind my eyes.

The perfect time.

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

And what I got instead was him leaving to be with another woman for two years.

Mark Rowe, I'm done waiting for you.

Because we were never right for each other.

The message disappeared. He'd unsent it.

A new one popped up:

"That last message wasn't appropriate for Nellie to see. She's been really sensitive since she got sick. Just do what I asked, okay? Whatever I owe you, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you after these two years!"

I actually laughed out loud.

I waited two minutes. Sure enough, he unsent that one too.

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

He'd already made up his mind to stay by Nellie's side until she recovered. Why bother promising me two years?

And if she never got better, was I supposed to wait forever?

I shook my head, forcing the thought away.

I typed a single word: "Okay." Hit send.

A red exclamation mark. Message failed.

He'd already deleted me. Couldn't even wait, all so he could keep Nellie happy.

Fine by me.

I didn't care. I posted on social media that the wedding was off.

The questions flooded in almost instantly. Why? What happened?

I didn't want drama, so I stuck to Mark's script and said it was my decision.

But my friends weren't buying it. The messages poured in:

"Grace, Mark isn't that broke nobody he used to be. Every woman in the city would throw herself at him now. You cancel this wedding, and you're basically handing your man to someone else on a silver platter!"

I didn't reply.

Because Mark was already someone else's husband.

Shortly after my post went up, Nellie sent me a photo of their marriage certificate.

Her tone dripped with triumph as she thanked me for my generous assistance.

"Grace, thanks so much for the assist! Mark was originally just going to accompany me as my boyfriend, but to make it easier to sign medical forms for me, he rushed and got us legally married!"

I didn't dignify it with a response. Delete. Block. Done.

My phone buzzed again. My mother, calling to chew me out.

"What is wrong with you? The fruit's right there on the branch and you won't pick it! What are you trying to prove? By the time you come to your senses, he might not want to marry you anymore!"

A dry laugh escaped me.

"What if he's the one who doesn't want to get married?"

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

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

Eight years loving Mark Rowe. He always said the same thing: career first, then family.

But when success finally came, when he had the house and the car, building a family with me wasn't what he had in mind.

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

For eight years, I'd been by his side through everything. The startup grind. The basement apartment. The instant noodles. I'd swallowed my pride a thousand times over, telling him I dreamed of being his wife, for richer or poorer.

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 gutted me, I went along with it.

Just like tonight, when he said he wanted to be there for Nellie's treatment.

After all, he was the one who despised her trailing after him like a lovesick puppy.

He'd even said her love made him sick.

In that moment, though my heart felt like it was being carved open, a strange relief washed over me.

If the wedding was off, at least I didn't have to keep lowering myself to the dust, waiting for him to finally marry me.

My mother was still rambling on about how women who knew how to act sweet always had the best lives. The grievance lodged in my chest suddenly lost its desire for an audience.

"Mom, the wedding's canceled. There's no way I'm marrying him!"

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

The emcee went quiet for a beat before speaking.

"Mr. Rowe already called about this. The thing is, he asked us to keep the decorations and banners in storage for two years. That's going to be tough. Most of those materials are single-use..."

It clicked instantly. He'd picked that fight on purpose, just to make me deal with all the fallout and the questions.

And he actually believed I'd wait for him for two years, like those cheap decorations gathering dust in a warehouse.

"Throw it all out. Even if it weren't disposable, two years in storage would rot it."

Just like his love for me.

It would fade and vanish with time.

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

Philippa Rowe despised Nellie Simmons. If she found out her son had already signed a marriage certificate with that woman, she might keel over from sheer rage.

I took a deep breath and transferred the $88,000 wedding fund back to her, every last cent.

I counted to three in my head.

The phone rang.

"Grace, sweetheart, why did you send the wedding fund back?"

"Mom, Mark and I aren't getting married right now. We'll talk about it in a couple of years."

Philippa was sharp. She caught the wrongness immediately.

"Did Mark do something to hurt you? I'm going over there right now! The wedding tomorrow is happening as planned!"

"Mrs. Rowe, the wedding really can't go forward..."

But Philippa had already hung up.

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

And it was my turn to pack and leave.

The apartment was still dressed for a celebration. Every detail reflected the happy married life I'd spent weeks imagining.

Now each one was a blade twisting into 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 Mark had called me several times.

Didn't take a genius to figure out why. He wanted to blame me for not keeping Philippa under control.

I set the key on the entryway table and picked up the last framed wedding portrait on my way to the door.

I walked straight into Mark.

The portrait smashed against the floor, shattering into pieces.

A shard sliced across the top of my foot, and blood welled up instantly.

Mark grabbed Nellie and pulled her behind him, his face tight with irritation.

"Grace, what the hell? Didn't you see Nellie 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 pinhead off Nellie's shoe.

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

His peripheral vision caught the suitcase. He shot to his feet and seized my arm.

"Grace, where are you going?"

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

I saw the caller ID. Philippa.

He answered with barely concealed impatience.

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

He hung up and turned to me.

"Grace, my mom says the wedding tomorrow has to go ahead as planned."

"I don't want to upset her, so let's keep everything as is. But could you run away? Flee to France? I'll book the ticket for you myself."

"My mom adores you. If you bolt, she'll definitely send me after you. That way I can keep pretending I'm overseas chasing you down."