The night my grandmother was dying, Ethan Carter finally agreed to take me home. She was holding on by a thread—just wanted to see, one last time, the man I’d loved for seven years. We were halfway there when Ethan got a call from Claire Bennett. On the other end, she was crying so hard she could barely speak. “Ethan, I’m at the hospital alone. I’m so scared.” Ethan went quiet for a few seconds, then turned the car around. “Grace, Claire saved my life once. I can’t just ignore her.” This wasn’t the first time. On my birthday, he went with Claire to try on gala dresses. When I had a fever that wouldn’t break, he took Claire to her therapist. Now my grandmother was on her deathbed, asking to see him just once—and he still chose her. At three in the morning, my grandmother held my hand, her breath faint, and asked, “Is he almost here?” I smiled. “Almost.” But by the time she took her last breath, Ethan still hadn’t come. I closed her eyes for her and slid the wedding envelope she’d clutched all night—the one she’d wanted to place in Ethan’s hands herself—into the drawer. My phone lit up. A message from Ethan. “Claire fell asleep. I’ll come by later.” I didn’t reply. I just shut the drawer, and with it, the version of myself that had waited seven years for him. The day we buried my grandmother, I didn’t tell Ethan. I called the funeral home myself. Stood on the hill at the cemetery and watched the workers shovel dirt back into the ground, one scoop at a time. Aunt Linda was crying so hard she couldn’t stand straight. She grabbed my arm and asked, “Grace, where’s that fiancé of yours? Your grandmother’s gone, and he can’t even show his face?” “He’s busy.” My voice was so hoarse I couldn’t manage another word. After the last shovel of earth fell, I crouched in front of the headstone and set down a lilac honey cake—Grandma’s favorite. My phone buzzed. Ethan was calling. His tone was unusually gentle. “Grace, I’m at a furniture store picking out a dining table for the new place. Do you like round or rectangular?” I held the phone, frozen for a few seconds. It had been so long since he’d asked what I liked. I was about to answer when I heard Claire’s voice through the receiver. “Ethan, a square one. Grace’s family is small anyway—a square table is more than enough.” Ethan made a sound of agreement, then asked me, “What do you think?” “I—” “And this sideboard.” Claire’s voice was closer now, so clear she might as well have been standing in front of me. “White is too plain. Walnut is more refined. Grace already dresses so dull—the house shouldn’t feel that cold too, right?” Ethan let out a small laugh. “She’s really not great at picking these things.” I gripped my phone tighter. I’d wanted to pick a round table. Grandma always said that when a family eats together, they should sit in a circle. That’s what makes it feel like home. Ethan was still talking on the other end. “Grace, why aren’t you saying anything? Which one do you want?” Claire’s voice went soft, coaxing. “Ethan, let’s just go with this set. I’m sure Grace won’t mind.” “She never does.” I listened to those words—she never does—and suddenly felt so tired. Ethan and I had been together for years. Once, I really did think we were good. Until his mentor brought Claire back from abroad, and I realized some things had never truly ended. Back in college, they were everyone’s idea of a perfect pair. Same major, effortless chemistry. Even their advisor said it was a shame—wondered how they’d never gotten together. After Claire came back, that chemistry became even more obvious. Ethan was in the habit of hearing her opinion first. He consulted her on work matters, and in everyday life, he instinctively factored her in. And Claire acted like she’d always belonged there—arranging things for him, deciding for him. Most of the time, she’d already made the call before remembering to say to me: “Sorry, Grace—did I overstep?” The table, the sofa, the curtains—all chosen to Claire’s taste. It was supposed to be my home, but I couldn’t get a single complete thought out. I was quiet for a long time. Finally I said, “Whatever you two decide.” A brief silence on the other end. Ethan sounded relieved. “Then we’ll go with Claire’s pick.” I hung up. Grandma, I’m sorry. I made you wait alone again. On the long-distance bus back to the city, Ethan called again. This time, his voice was tinged with urgency. “Grace, I heard you went back to the town by yourself? Why didn’t you call me? I’ll go with you tomorrow to see your grandmother.” I was silent for a long time. He didn’t even know she was gone. “No need. She’s already buried.” Silence on the other end. A long silence. Then he said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I—” The call cut off mid-sentence. Claire must have needed him again. That afternoon, Ethan’s mother called. Her first words after I picked up: “Grace, I heard your grandmother passed? My condolences.” “But the wedding is only two weeks away. Keep the funeral low-key—don’t let it overshadow the happy occasion.” I tightened my grip on the phone. She continued, “Ethan’s been exhausted lately, and Claire’s health is fragile. Don’t pile everything on him.” “Claire’s the bridesmaid for the wedding. She’s delicate—don’t let her run herself ragged.” “You don’t have many relatives on your side, so keep the program simple.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t have any family left.” A pause on the other end. As if she hadn’t heard me at all. “Anyway, the wedding can’t be a mess.” “If your grandmother were still here, she’d want you to marry into this family with dignity.” Of course Grandma wanted me to marry with dignity. That’s why she spent her last night alive clutching that envelope, waiting for Ethan. But no one cared. That night, I opened Instagram. Claire had posted something new. In the photo, she and Ethan sat in a Japanese restaurant. She was holding a piece of salmon with her chopsticks, tilting her head toward the camera with a smile. Ethan sat across from her, his face out of frame—but I recognized the hand wearing his watch. He was pouring soy sauce for her. The caption read: “Thanks to Ethan for feeding this patient despite his busy schedule. Very touched.” Posted at six p.m. Which meant that when I told him Grandma had already been buried, he was having dinner with Claire. I pressed my phone face-down on the bed, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling for a very, very long time.
Three days after I got back to the city, I went to the wedding planning company. The receptionist recognized me and immediately walked over with a smile. “Ms. Grace, you’re here! Ms. Claire was in this morning—she already signed off on the final proof of the invitations.” I stopped. “What final proof?” “The invitations.” She pulled out a printed sample and handed it to me. “Ms. Claire said you gave her full authority, so we had her sign the approval.” I took the invitation. The cover font had been changed, sure enough. Beneath the gold-foil names, there was a set of initials. E.C. E for Ethan. But my name is Grace. “The C stands for…?” The receptionist blinked, then flipped through the notes. “Oh—Ms. Claire said the bride’s name could be written as Claire. More international, more elegant.” Claire. I stared at those two letters and suddenly laughed. “Cancel the wedding.” The receptionist went blank. “Ms. Grace, what did you say?” “Terminate the contract. Keep the deposit. I’ll pay the cancellation fee.” I placed my bank card on the counter. She panicked and made three phone calls in a row. The planner rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Ms. Grace, did you and Mr. Carter have a fight? Why don’t you take some time to think it over? Ms. Claire—” “It has nothing to do with her.” I signed the papers and stood up. As I turned, Claire walked through the door. She wore a white sundress and carried the bag Ethan had bought her last month on her arm. She froze when she saw me, then smiled and walked over. “Grace! You’re here too? I was just about to talk to you about the color for the bridesmaid dresses.” “No need. Work it out with the planner.” I stepped around her and headed for the exit. She caught up from behind and grabbed my wrist. “Grace, are you upset?” “Is it because I changed the dessert last time? I really didn’t mean to—I just thought cranberry fit the overall color palette better.” I looked at her hand. Fair, nails filed smooth, painted a pale pink. I suddenly thought of my grandmother’s hands—joints swollen and twisted, yet still gripping that envelope with all her remaining strength. “Claire.” I pulled my wrist free. “The lilac honey flavor was my choice. Because my grandmother loved it.” Her expression stiffened for an instant. Then quickly returned to that look of wounded innocence. “I didn’t know. Grace, why didn’t you say something sooner? If you’d told me, I definitely wouldn’t have changed it.” Seven years. Every single time: “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” When I did speak up, she pretended not to hear. When I didn’t, she took it as consent. “It’s fine.” I smiled. “You chose well. I’m heading out.” I walked through the doors and the sunlight hit me so hard I felt dizzy. My stomach started hurting again. A dull ache, wave after wave—it had been getting more frequent over the past three months. I leaned against a pillar on the sidewalk, fished the painkillers from my bag, and dry-swallowed two. Three months ago, the day I got my diagnosis, I sat in the hallway outside the oncology department and called Ethan. It took seven calls before he picked up. The background noise was loud. A woman was crying. He said, “Grace, Claire’s having another episode. I can’t leave. Let’s talk tonight.” I said, “Ethan, my test results came back today. The doctor said—” He cut me off. “Hold on. Claire, don’t cry, I’m here.” “Grace, what were you saying? Bad signal—let’s talk when I’m home.” He hung up. That night, he came home exhausted and fell asleep on the couch. His phone sat face-up on the coffee table. The screen lit up. A message from Claire. “Ethan, thank you for being with me today. You must be so tired. Get some sleep. Goodnight.” Followed by a kiss emoji. I stood behind him and stared at that message for a long time. Then I walked into the study, folded the diagnosis report, and slipped it between the pages of my journal. I never brought it up again.
After leaving the wedding planner, I went to Ethan’s office. My stomach was still aching. I leaned against the elevator wall and swallowed two more painkillers. The receptionist saw me and smiled. “Ms. Grace! Mr. Carter’s in a meeting—would you like me to let him know?” I set the manila envelope on the desk. “No need. Just pass this along to him.” She looked confused. “You’re not going to wait?” “No.” Passing Ethan’s office, the door was half-open. Claire’s voice drifted out. “Ethan, this apartment is really nice—the guest room even has its own bathroom.” “If I stay over once in a while, it’ll be convenient.” Ethan said, “Let Grace take a look. If she’s happy with it, we’ll lock it in.” Claire laughed. “When has Grace ever not been happy? You could put her in a basement and she’d think you were doing her a favor.” Ethan said quietly, “Don’t talk about her like that.” But there was no reproach in his voice. Claire asked again, “So the wedding invitations are going with the version I approved this morning? Grace isn’t going to suddenly change her mind, is she?” Ethan gave a short laugh. “What’s she going to change her mind about?” “The wedding’s almost here. She’ll throw a fit for two days, then get over it on her own.” Claire sounded relieved. “I thought she was actually angry today.” “She’s not like that.” Ethan’s tone was certain. “She can’t let go.” I stood outside the door, and suddenly I wanted to laugh. So it wasn’t that he didn’t know I loved him. He knew it too well. And so my concessions, my silence, my hurt—they’d all become his safety net. He was certain I couldn’t let go. Certain I couldn’t leave. Certain that no matter how many times he turned around to be with Claire, I’d be standing in the same spot, waiting. Just like the night Grandma was dying. When he turned the car around, he didn’t even glance back at me. Because he knew I’d make excuses for him, smooth things over, swallow every humiliation on his behalf. I didn’t listen any longer. I turned and walked into the elevator. Downstairs, my phone buzzed. A message from Ethan. “What’s the key card and keys supposed to mean?” I didn’t reply. Soon, a second message came in. “Grace, what are you pulling now?” A third. “The wedding’s almost here. Don’t make us a joke in front of everyone.” I looked at the screen and felt, all at once, utterly drained. I turned off my phone and took a cab back to the apartment. Ethan finished his meeting and the receptionist brought the envelope into his office. “Mr. Carter, Ms. Grace stopped by earlier. She asked me to give you this.” Ethan opened it. Inside were the key card to the new apartment, the spare keys, and the engagement ring he’d given me. His brow creased. Claire asked softly, “Did I do something wrong? Did Grace misunderstand?” Ethan tossed the envelope into a drawer. “She’s just throwing a tantrum.” “She wouldn’t even cancel the wedding. Where’s she going to go?” Then he texted me. “I’m coming home tonight. You’re going to explain yourself.” A few minutes later, he added: “Enough is enough.” No reply. Ethan stared at the chat, mildly irritated but not worried. Every fight before this one, Grace had caved first. This time wouldn’t be any different. Claire asked, “Ethan, are we still going to that Japanese place tonight?” Ethan checked the time. “Yes.” “I’ll drop you off at the hospital after dinner, then go deal with her.” Claire smiled. “Won’t Grace be even angrier?” Ethan grabbed his jacket, tone casual. “She’s loved me for seven years. She won’t actually be angry.” “She can’t leave me.”
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