Seven years of marriage. My husband ran from our wedding thirteen times. The first time, his personal assistant sprained her ankle. I stood alone under the flower arch, waiting from sunset until midnight. The second time, she had a migraine. He left the ring box on the altar and walked away. After that, every single time we set a wedding date, something happened to her. Food poisoning. Anxiety attack. A leak in her apartment. Thirteen times. Every single one. After the thirteenth, I finally decided to let go. But the moment I walked toward another man, he went insane trying to drag me back. … Seven years of marriage. Elliott Carrington and I never had a wedding. Today was our seventh anniversary, the day we’d stood in front of a city clerk and exchanged vows. It was also the day he’d promised, for the thirteenth time, to finally give me a real ceremony. At the anniversary party, I stood off to the side. Everyone was busy toasting Elliott and the woman who never left his side. I sat alone by the towering cake, drinking my own champagne. He didn’t look at me. Not once. The party was supposed to be mine. It ended with Elliott’s indifference and the guests’ carefully averted eyes. Afterward, he was supposed to come with me to the wedding studio and finalize Sunday’s ceremony. Instead, he left me on the curb. Outside the restaurant, his black Cadillac Escalade pulled up right in front of me. I reached for the passenger door. He spoke first. “Serena had too much to drink. I need to make sure she gets home safe. Handle the wedding stuff yourself.” “I won’t be back tonight. Don’t wait up.” He was already rolling up the window before I could even react. I pulled my gaze away from Serena Renée, sitting in the passenger seat where I rarely sat. Before the window closed completely, I said it. Calm. Level. “Sure. Drive safe.” Elliott had braced himself for her to scream, to cry, to demand why he was leaving again. Nothing came. She was so calm. Like she was saying goodbye to a stranger. It made something unfamiliar twist in his chest. But he was in a hurry to get to Serena. He shoved the unease down. His voice loosened, just slightly. “I’ll be there this time.” The window went up. He drove off without looking back. Late autumn in New York. The cold bit into me as I watched his taillights disappear. It wasn’t the autumn cold. It was the kind of cold that seeps out from inside your bones. Elliott rarely let me sit in his passenger seat. He never offered me that kind of careful, attentive escort. I used to think he was just a cold person. Now I understood. It was just the person in the seat who was different. I married him at twenty-two. Seven years of marriage. Not a single complete wedding. I’d known before we married that he had someone in his heart. Someone he’d loved since he was young. He agreed to marry me because his grandmother practically commanded it. And because that person had abandoned him and left for the West Coast. Now she was back. His personal assistant. Glued to his side day and night. I took a deep breath. Set my glass down. Some things need to end.
The next afternoon, I went to the wedding studio alone to finalize everything. “Ivy, are you sure you want to cut all these elements? You really don’t want to discuss it with Mr. Carrington first?” Madeleine Shaw, the wedding planner, was asking me for the third time. She’d handled all twelve of my and Elliott’s previous attempts. We went way back. I let out a tired smile. “No need. Simple is fine. He won’t care.” “I still remember the first time the two of you walked in here together. The chemistry between you, the sparks. Like something out of a movie. Bright. Happy. I don’t know why your weddings never make it to the altar, but the state you’re in now, it looks like you’ve been drained dry.” The ache in Madeleine’s voice cut deeper than professional concern. She was right. Elliott and I had once shared moments beautiful enough to survive countless heartbreaks. That time was short, but it was enough to keep me going through all the pain. It was late when I got home. I collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. I looked around. Festive decorations everywhere. I’d put them up myself for Sunday’s wedding. White and champagne balloons floated in the living room. Eucalyptus leaves and ribbons draped the mantel. By the floor-to-ceiling windows stood the wedding dress I’d flown to Paris to commission for our first attempt. When I’d ordered that dress, my heart was so full. So hopeful. I’d poured every dream of our future together into it. That dress never made it through a single complete ceremony. The house was so quiet. All those thoughtful decorations, and it still felt empty. Just like my heart. I washed up, then opened a folder I hadn’t touched in a long time. My old design work. Sitting in the cloud, gathering digital dust. One by one, I looked at the jewelry designs. Some of my best work. Something warm stirred in my chest. Before the marriage, I was a jewelry designer. I had a name in the industry. After, he said he wanted me home more. I dropped everything. Poured every ounce of myself into him. Slowly, my sketchbook got shoved into a storage closet. Thinking back now, I realized what I’d lost wasn’t just a career. It was me. I wasn’t always like this. People used to say I was decisive. Efficient. Never dragged things out. These past years, I barely recognized myself. Once I saw it clearly, I made the call. I knew the number by heart. “I’ve thought about it. I’ll take the offer.” The voice on the other end paused, then lit up. “Great. I’ll book your flight right now.” I hung up. My fingers rested on the satin of the wedding dress for a moment. So smooth. And so cold. Sunday would be the last time. Two more days. Then everything would go back to where it was supposed to be. Elliott and I, we probably wouldn’t see each other again.
A little past three in the morning, my phone blew up with notifications. I picked it up. Over a dozen messages from Serena. All photos, short videos of her with Elliott, and a voice recording. I hesitated. Then I tapped the recording. The clink of glasses came first. Then Serena’s voice, tipsy and probing. “Eli, just admit it. You married her because your grandmother told you to. Right?” Long silence. Just when I thought no answer was coming, Elliott’s voice came through. Low. Rough. Not an answer. A warning. “Serena. Enough.” He didn’t deny it. She laughed. Smug. Knowing. My stomach seized. There it was. Thirteen times. It was over. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even feel sad. Just tired. Too tired to even be angry. I closed the recording. Shut out the sounds that were getting harder to stomach. I wasn’t going back to sleep anyway. I got up and started packing. There wasn’t much in this house that was truly mine. Seven years. Two suitcases was all it took. By the time I finished, the sky was starting to lighten. Elliott came home just as I’d drifted off on the sofa. I used to leave a light on for him, no matter how late he came back. Or if he came back at all. I’d hear his car pull into the driveway and walk out to the porch to meet him. Maybe time does that. Or maybe I just got used to it. This time I didn’t wait. And it turned out he’d forgotten his keys. I opened the door. His complaint hit me first. “Why did it take you so long?” “I fell asleep. Actually, you could have—” used the fingerprint lock. He cut me off. “Never mind. What are you doing? What’s with all the boxes?” He stared at the cardboard boxes in the corner. Gifts he’d given me over the years. His face flickered. “Oh. I’m going to East Hampton today to see Grandmother. Some things don’t fit here. I’ll store them at her place.” I shifted a box out of his way without a second glance. “Yeah. Give Grandmother my regards. And you know she’s older now. No need to go into details about everything.” His voice softened. I nodded. He exhaled, relief on his face, and headed for the study. I ignored him. Went back to sorting the gifts I’d once treasured. A few minutes later, Elliott came back out carrying two velvet jewelry cases. I recognized them instantly. The heirloom sets Grandmother had given me. One was an Edwardian diamond tiara. The other, an Art Deco emerald necklace. She’d said they were meant for the woman who would carry the Carrington name. Elliott had asked for them back a while ago. I understood now. They were always meant for Serena. He saw me glance at the cases. He hesitated. “Serena has a charity gala next week. She wanted to borrow these to go with her dress. She’ll return them after.” I nodded. “Whatever you want.” They belonged to that role anyway. Not to me. “You…” He stopped. Stared at me. Something flickered in his eyes. Unease. The old me would have screamed at him, fought him, forbid him from having anything to do with Serena. Would have dragged Grandmother into it. But these past two times, my reaction had been calm. Cold. Elliott felt something slipping out of his control. He just couldn’t name it. “After Sunday’s done, we could take a trip. Where do you want to go?” He said it at the door, glancing at the pile of his gifts against the wall. The words came out stiff. Forced. Then he shut the door and left.
I looked at what was left. The teddy bear had toppled over when Elliott slammed the door. I picked it up and just held it for a long time. My mother never believed in marriage. She wanted a child, not a husband. She found a sperm bank. Did IVF. I was sixteen when she landed a dream curatorial position in Paris and fell into a new relationship. She moved to Europe. Left me with her old friend, Eleanor Carrington. When I first arrived at the Carrington estate in the Hamptons, I was drowning in the grief of being abandoned. It was a warm afternoon. Seventeen-year-old Elliott walked up to me holding this teddy bear. The sun felt soft that day. He didn’t say a word. Just shoved the bear into my arms and walked away, cool and untouchable. That bear was the beginning of everything. I put the bear at the bottom of a box. On my way out, I stopped at a Goodwill donation bin by the curb. The metal lid was a little rusted. It creaked when I pushed it open. The teddy bear caught for a second, its head too big, tilting sideways before sliding silently into the dark. No echo. Nothing. Just like my seven years. “Ivy, are you sure about this?” Grandmother set a cup of Earl Grey in front of me in the old East Hampton house. Across from her sat Bill Carter, the divorce attorney she’d used for forty years. I flipped the thick prenup to the property division clause. When Elliott had me sign it back then, the terms were generous. A vacation house in the Hamptons. A substantial trust fund. “I’m sure, Grandmother.” I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. “According to the agreement. The money and the house, I’ve authorized Bill to sell them. The proceeds go to my alma mater’s scholarship foundation.” Grandmother watched me do it all. Silent. She took my hand. Her eyes glistened. “You’re a good girl. He doesn’t deserve you.” “It’s not about deserving, Grandmother.” I held her hand, meeting those eyes that had seen so much. “These years, the problems between Elliott and me, you didn’t cause them. You’ve only ever been good to me.” “Four years ago, I saw hope. I thought he was finally getting serious about you. You two had a stretch of real marriage. And then Serena came back right at that moment. It’s my fault. I let you suffer all these years.” She was right. I’d spent three years trying. Slowly melted his ice. We’d had a brief stretch of something sweet. Something real. I thought everything was finally getting better. Then Serena returned from Los Angeles. Everything stopped. Elliott pulled away harder. Grew colder. More cruel. I promised Grandmother again and again that I’d visit. Only then did she let me go. I left the estate, her reluctant gaze following me out. At the end of the driveway, a black Escalade sat waiting. “The wedding’s tomorrow. I’m coming home tonight. Thought I’d pick you up.” Elliott rolled down the window before I could speak. I nodded. Got in. Said nothing. The drive back was dead silent. Elliott seemed to hate it. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, restless. He started to say something several times, then swallowed it. Finally, he broke. “How’s Grandmother?” “She’s fine. You should visit her more.” Silence again. Elliott pressed his lips into a hard line. He didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. When we got home, he went straight to the study and closed the door. Maybe I imagined it, but he seemed angry. The thought lasted about three seconds. Elliott never had much of an expression around me anyway. I showered and was about to say a final goodbye when he came to me first. “Serena’s not feeling well again. You know she doesn’t have many people here. I’ll go check on her. Try to come back soon.” Something was different. He sounded almost guilty. Almost like he was asking permission. I swallowed the words I’d meant to say. Put on a clean, practiced smile. “Okay. Drive safe.” Relief washed over his face. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry. I said I’d be there Sunday, and I will.” He grabbed his jacket. Changed his shoes. The promise fell with the slam of the door. I let out a bitter laugh. He wasn’t coming back tonight. I’d wanted to say goodbye in person. Guess that wasn’t happening.
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