My father called to ask about the wedding details. I recited them effortlessly. What time the walk down the aisle started, when the vows would be read, when we would toast the tables—I had memorized the schedule better than any quarterly report I’d ever delivered. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “What does Denis say?” I went quiet for three seconds. “He says it’s all up to me.” After hanging up, I stared at the thick stack of invitations on my desk. Three months ago, when I asked Denis what kind of wedding he wanted, he was staring at his phone, texting. He didn’t even look up. “You’re good at this kind of thing. Just do whatever you want.” What exactly was I good at? I was good at visiting eight different venues by myself to compare rates and layouts. I was good at tasting a dozen different artisan chocolates alone to pick the favors. I was good at staying up until 2:00 AM finalizing a last-minute seating chart, while he was “working late” at the office. I had forced myself to be good at everything. But during the rehearsal tonight, he still didn’t show up. I ended up having his best man stand in for him so we could walk the cues. When it was over, the best man looked at me, a flash of pity in his eyes. “Actually, Lauren… I saw Denis on the highway earlier. He was with Cora.” My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my smile perfectly intact. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” There was no point in waiting around for a miracle in this relationship anymore. …… “How did the rehearsal go?” Denis’s voice came through the line shortly after I got home. “Fine,” I said. “I knew it. You always handle things so well without me.” He chuckled, a casual assumption wrapped in praise. “I picked up that chestnut cake you love from the bakery downtown. Just parked the car, I’ll be up in a minute.” The call disconnected. The lock clicked. Denis walked in holding a neat little paper bag. He hung his suit jacket on the coat rack. “Today must have been exhausting,” he said, setting the bag on the coffee table. “Your best man filled in for you,” I said, leaning back against the sofa, watching him. He reached out, instinctively trying to ruffle my hair, but I tilted my head away. His hand froze in midair, his brow furrowing slightly. “Lauren, are you still mad at me?” He sighed, dropping his hand. “I didn’t skip out on purpose.” “No?” “Cora’s car broke down on the expressway loop.” His tone was entirely earnest, devoid of any guilt. “She has severe claustrophobia. She was trapped in the middle of traffic, sobbing hysterically. I couldn’t just leave her there.” “So you went to rescue her.” “Lauren, it was a dangerous situation. She was panicking on a busy highway. What if something had happened to her? The rehearsal is just a formality anyway. You know the run-of-the-play by heart, you didn’t need me there. Besides, the best man was there, wasn’t he?” He spoke with such absolute conviction, as if my silence were the unreasonable part. I opened the paper bag. It wasn’t chestnut cake. It was a slice of matcha crepe cake. “Why is this matcha?” I asked. Denis blinked, glancing at the box. “Oh. Cora mentioned earlier that their matcha crepe is their best-seller, so I just grabbed it. Give it a try. It’s good to change things up occasionally.” I stared at the green cake. “Denis, I am highly allergic to mangoes. This bakery uses a mango puree filling in their matcha crepes.” Silence fell over the room. A flash of panic crossed his face, but he quickly smoothed it over with his usual gentle demeanor. “I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t think. Things have been so chaotic at the office lately, I must have gotten things mixed up.” “Gotten things mixed up? Or is your head just so full of Cora’s preferences that there’s no room for mine?” “Lauren, don’t be so sensitive,” he said, his brow tightening. “I apologized. It’s just a piece of cake. If you don’t want it, throw it out.” With a swift, clean motion, he swept the cake, box and all, into the trash can. It was efficient, like he was sweeping away my “unreasonable” attitude. “The best man said he saw the two of you at a coffee shop,” I remarked. Denis’s hand hesitated as he poured a glass of water. “We had to wait for the tow truck. I took her to grab a hot drink to calm her nerves.” He turned around, holding the glass. “You’ve always been so independent, Lauren. I knew you’d understand.” Independent. That was the word I had heard most over our four years together. Because I was independent, I could go to the ER by myself at midnight for an IV drip. Because I was independent, I could fix a blown fuse in the pouring rain. Because I was independent, he felt entirely justified in showering all his attention on the fragile, helpless Cora. The phone on the coffee table lit up with a video call from Cora. He didn’t even try to hide it. He answered right in front of me. “Denis!” On screen, Cora’s eyes were red and puffy. She was clutching a white cat. “What’s wrong?” Denis’s voice softened instantly. “I just wanted to say thank you again. If you hadn’t called the tow truck, I don’t know how long I would’ve been crying on that highway.” “It’s fine. Did the car get to the shop?” “Yes. But… I’m terrified of sleeping alone tonight. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like I’m suffocating again.” Her voice trembled. “Is Lauren there? Does she hate me for taking up your time today?” Denis glanced at me. “No, she’s very understanding. She doesn’t mind.” Listening to them, a wave of nausea washed over me. It was sickening. “Denis, could you come with me to pick up the car tomorrow? I’m scared to go to that auto yard by myself. I heard that part of town is really sketchy.” “Tomorrow?” Denis hesitated. Tomorrow was our appointment to try on my wedding gown. “I’m fitting my wedding dress tomorrow,” I said quietly. On the screen, Cora immediately gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Lauren, I had no idea you guys had plans. I really didn’t mean to. I can go by myself. It’s fine if something happens…” Tears began to spill down her cheeks. Denis’s expression darkened. “Lauren, why do you have to be so hostile?” he muttered, looking at me. I said nothing. He turned back to the screen. “Don’t cry, Cora. I’ll go with you to pick up the car tomorrow morning.” “But Lauren’s dress…” “She can handle it. The shop assistants are there to help her.” Just like that, he made the decision for me. He hung up. “Are you happy now?” I asked. “Lauren, she’s sick. She has psychological trauma. Do you really have to pick a fight with someone who is suffering?” He sighed. “You never used to be like this.” I was too tired to argue. “Fine. I’ll go by myself.” I stood up and walked toward the bedroom. “Lauren, I’ll help you double-check the seating chart later,” he called out behind me. “No need. It’s done.” The next morning, I was sitting at my vanity, putting on makeup. Denis was already dressed in a sharp suit. “I’ll head over to help Cora with the car first. The shop is in the north suburbs, so it might take about two hours.” He adjusted his tie in the mirror. “My appointment at the bridal salon is at ten,” I said. “I know. Go ahead and start without me. Pick a few you like, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I’m done.” He laid out the schedule as if it were perfectly reasonable. “What if I can’t choose without you?” “Your taste is always perfect. You’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear.” He turned and walked to the door. “Be good. Wait for me.” The door clicked shut. I arrived at the bridal salon. The consultant greeted me warmly. “Ms. Mercer, is Denis not here yet?” “He’ll be late.” I followed the consultant into the VIP fitting room. The haute couture gown I had waited three months for was draped elegantly on the display rack. It was heavy, intricate, and stunning. She helped me slip into it, but as she tried to pull up the zipper halfway, it stuck. “Take a deep breath, Ms. Mercer. You might be a bit tense—maybe from the wedding stress.” I felt a dull, familiar ache in my lower abdomen. The heavy, dragging sensation hadn’t let up since last night. Looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, I felt a wave of exhaustion. “Mr. Ross really should be here,” the consultant murmured. “This train needs to be adjusted properly from the back to see the full effect.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Denis. It rang six times before he picked up. “Lauren? What’s up?” The background was noisy, filled with the loud hum of machinery. “It’s ten-thirty, Denis. You’re not here.” “I’m sorry. Cora’s car has some undercarriage damage. The mechanics are going over the repair list with us, and she’s panicking because she doesn’t understand any of it. I need to make sure they aren’t ripping her off.” “So you’re leaving me here to wait for you while wearing a thirty-pound wedding dress?” “Lauren, can you please show some empathy? This place is filthy and noisy, and Cora doesn’t even have a place to sit. She’s miserable.” He was worried about Cora not having a chair. But he didn’t care that I was standing alone in a bridal salon, abandoned on the day of my fitting. I closed my eyes, and a memory from a snowy night a year ago flashed through my mind. I had a 103-degree fever. Denis told me he had an urgent board meeting and couldn’t take me to the hospital. I had to bundle up in a heavy coat and walk through the snow for thirty minutes just to hail a cab. When I finally reached the ER, I texted him to let him know I was safe. No reply. The next morning, I saw a post on Cora’s social media. A photo of her wearing Denis’s winter coat, holding a warm cup of cocoa. The caption read: My first real snow. So glad I had my favorite senior to keep me safe. Only then did I realize that his “urgent board meeting” was actually Cora wanting to see the snow, and being afraid of getting lost in the dark. He had stood by the river with her for two hours in the freezing cold, while I spent the night hooked up to an IV on a hard plastic chair in a crowded hospital hallway. When I confronted him, he said, “You were already at the hospital, Lauren. You had doctors and nurses. Cora was out in the cold all by herself.” He always had a seamless, unshakeable logic. He packaged his cruelty as chivalry, his neglect as mere responsibility. “Lauren? Are you listening?” his voice cut through the line, laced with impatience. “I’ll get there as fast as I can. Just have the staff make you comfortable.” “Don’t bother,” I said. My voice was eerily calm as I opened my eyes. “Don’t come.” I hung up. “Ms. Mercer?” the consultant asked, her eyes filled with concern. “Please help me take it off.” “But we aren’t finished… you waited three months for this to be imported…” “We’re done. I won’t be renting this.” I changed back into my clothes, pulled a credit card from my purse, and handed it to her. “Keep the deposit. Just cancel the reservation.” Stepping out of the salon, the crisp morning air cleared my head. I opened my phone and pulled up my chat with the wedding coordinator. Cancel everything. The venue, the catering, the flowers. She immediately replied with a string of shocked emojis. Ms. Mercer, the wedding is next week! The cancellation fees are astronomical! I know. I’ll pay whatever the penalty is. Just send over the cancellation agreement. I caught a cab to the hospital. The cramping in my stomach was getting sharper, and I needed to see a doctor. I waited in line, surrounded by expectant mothers accompanied by their husbands, clutching my clinic slip alone. “Lauren Mercer?” I stood up and walked into the exam room. The OB-GYN looked over my charts, her face grave. “Ms. Mercer, you’re pregnant. About five weeks.” She paused. “We need to discuss your options immediately. Did your partner not come with you?” “No.” “I suggest you call him. This is something you should decide together.” I reached into my bag, my fingers trembling against my phone. For four years, Denis and I had been careful. He always insisted that Cora’s mental health was too fragile, that he had to divide his energy to care for her, and that it wasn’t the right time for a baby. This pregnancy was an accident. “Your progesterone levels are incredibly low, and you’re showing signs of an impending miscarriage,” the doctor explained, pointing to the numbers on the screen. “Have you been under extreme physical or emotional stress lately?” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Planning a wedding entirely on my own, working late nights to coordinate every detail, all while enduring Denis’s emotional absence and constant gaslighting. How could I not be stressed? “You need absolute bed rest and progesterone supplements immediately. Any strenuous activity or severe emotional upheaval, and you will lose this pregnancy,” she warned strictly. I walked out of the clinic with a prescription in hand as a light drizzle began to fall. I didn’t call Denis. I knew exactly where he was—comforting a shaken Cora. My child didn’t weigh as much as one of her sighs. I took a cab back to our apartment. It was a beautiful place we had bought six months ago. I had spent four months painstakingly decorating every inch of it. The digital lock beeped, and the door swung open. In the entryway sat a pair of pink heels. The ones Cora had worn yesterday. My chest tightened. I walked inside. In the living room, Cora was curled up on my sofa, wearing my silk robe, watching TV. Denis was in the kitchen, slicing fruit. Hearing the door, Denis walked out with a fruit platter, his face completely untroubled. “Lauren, you’re back. How did the fitting go?” He didn’t even ask why I was home early, or why I was alone. I stared at the robe Cora was wearing. It was a designer piece Denis had bought me during a business trip last month. I hadn’t even worn it yet. “Why is she here?” I pointed at her. Cora scrambled off the sofa, clutching the silk fabric tightly around herself. “Lauren, please don’t be mad. The mechanics at the shop were so aggressive today, and I had a panic attack. Denis saw how shaken I was, so he brought me here to rest.” “The mechanics were rude, so you decided to put on my clothes?” I asked, my voice cold. “I’m sorry…” Cora’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I spilled water on my dress, and Denis told me to find something to change into. I didn’t know this was… off-limits.” “Lauren, it’s just a robe. We can wash it,” Denis intervened, his brow furrowing as he set the fruit down. “Stop being so hostile.” Just a robe. To him, my personal space, my belongings, and my dignity were always secondary to Cora’s comfort. “This is our home,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “And you brought another woman here, and let her wear my clothes.” “Can you be reasonable for once?” Denis sighed, looking at me like I was a difficult child. “The guest room was empty. Look at her state—did you want me to send her back to that cold, damp apartment of hers? What if she has another depressive episode and does something drastic?” “And what about me? Are you trying to drive me insane instead?” “You’re being hysterical.” He stepped closer, trying to take my hand. “Lauren, you used to be the kindest person I knew. When did you become so bitter?” Kind? Bitter? I yanked my hand away from his touch. A sudden, sharp pain flared in my lower abdomen, making me gasp and take a step back. Denis didn’t even notice. He turned to Cora. “Go rest in the guest room for a bit. I need to talk to Lauren alone.” Cora nodded meekly, looking like a kicked puppy, and slipped down the hallway. “Denis,” I said, swallowing down the physical pain. “Make her leave. Now.” “No,” he said flatly. “It’s pouring rain outside. Where is she supposed to go? You’re crossing a line, Lauren.” I stared at him. This was the man I was supposed to marry. This was the man I had loved for four years. “Fine,” I whispered. My voice felt as fragile as glass. “Do whatever you want.” I turned and walked into our bedroom, locking the door behind me. From the hallway, Denis’s muffled, exasperated voice drifted through the wood. “Calm down first. I have some work emails to finish. Did you get everything ready for our appointment at the courthouse tomorrow?” I didn’t answer. I pulled my suitcase out of the closet and began packing. My clothes, my jewelry, my skincare products. It was shockingly little. I had lived here for months, yet everything I owned fit into a single suitcase. I printed the cancellation receipt from the wedding venue and placed it on the nightstand, laying my engagement ring right on top of it. Tomorrow was the day we were supposed to get married. My phone buzzed. It was a message from HR. Lauren, the legal department has signed off on your transfer to the London office. Do you have your flight booked? Yes, I replied. I fly out tomorrow morning. The next morning, I wheeled my suitcase out of the bedroom. Denis was in the kitchen, setting a warm breakfast on the table. Cora sat nearby, wearing an oversized white button-down. It was Denis’s shirt. She smiled as she took a glass of milk from him. “Thanks, Denis. Your breakfast is still the best.” Denis froze when he saw me walk out with my luggage. “Where are you going?” “We’re going to the courthouse today, aren’t we?” I said calmly. “I’m just taking some clothes to the dry cleaners on the way.” “Oh.” He relaxed, taking off his apron. “Actually, Lauren… about the courthouse…” He hesitated. I stopped and looked at him. “Cora has a follow-up evaluation for her depression today. The clinic requires a family member or a close contact to sign off on her files.” “And?” “Could we postpone the courthouse by just a day? We can go tomorrow. It’s the same thing.” He looked at me, his tone carrying that familiar, unyielding expectation that I would understand. “Today is the date we chose. The invitations have already been sent.” “Lauren, it’s just a piece of paper. What difference does twenty-four hours make?” He stepped toward me, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “You’re the organized one. You always know what’s important. I promise, the second I get back this afternoon, we’ll go.” “Denis…” Cora piped up from the table. “Maybe we shouldn’t. I can go alone. I don’t want Lauren to be mad at me…” “She won’t be,” Denis cut her off. “Lauren isn’t petty.” I looked at him. I looked at his confident face, so certain that I would yield, as I always did. The dull ache in my belly was a constant reminder that this man didn’t care if I lived or died. “Okay,” I said softly. “I knew you’d understand.” He smiled, visibly relieved. He grabbed his car keys. “I’ll take her to the clinic first. Get some rest, you looked pale yesterday.” “Don’t worry about it.” “What?” “Nothing. Go.” The front door shut, and the apartment fell into a dead silence. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even have the energy for anger. There was only a profound, hollow sense of relief. I pulled out my phone and dialed the moving company. “You can come up now.” Two hours later, the movers took the last of my boxes down to the truck. I stood in the empty bedroom, looking around. Without my things, the room looked cold and sterile. I walked over to the coffee table and laid down a note. It wasn’t even a letter. Just a single sentence. The wedding is cancelled. Do not contact me again.
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