Chapter 3

I couldn't believe I felt a bit moved back then.

Later, I found out that Rhea had once posted a photo of a hospital corridor on her social media when she had a stomachache.

That day, Randy drove halfway across the city to see her.

He didn't tell me.

When a mutual friend let it slip, he even tried to cover for Randy, saying, "She's an old classmate, and maybe he happened to be passing by."

But that hospital was over twenty-five miles away from his office.

In Takatia's evening rush hour, "passing by" sounded like a joke.

It was not like I never noticed something was off.

But every time, I found a way to explain it for him.

He was always busy with work.

He had a cold personality.

He wasn't good at expressing himself.

He wasn't the romantic type.

He acted that way with everyone.

But when I saw that boarding pass at the airport, I realized none of those excuses held up anymore.

He wasn't like that with everyone.

He was only like that with me.

The next morning, I took half a day off.

I didn't go to see Randy or reach out to Rhea.

I opened my laptop and started listing everything that had kept me connected to Randy over the past five years.

There was our joint account, a lease for our wedding apartment, the wedding venue deposit, and the wedding planner contract.

Besides, I also listed the final payment for the wedding dress, the order for wedding favors, and the hotel reservations for family and friends.

I'd never been the impulsive type.

So if I were leaving, I would be walking away for good, with no strings, no baggage.

The first call was to the wedding venue.

When they heard I was canceling, they sounded surprised and reminded me that I'd only get forty percent of the deposit back.

I said, "That's fine."

The second call was to the bridal shop.

The salesperson asked, "Ms. Robertson, your wedding dress has already been altered. Are you sure you don't want it anymore?"

I glanced at the garment bag hanging in my closet.

I'd tried on that dress three times.

The first time, the skirt felt too heavy. The second time, the bodice was uncomfortable. The third time, it finally fit right.

I used to imagine Randy would see me in that dress for the first time on our wedding day.

But now, I realized I didn't want him to see me in it at all.

I said, "I don't want it anymore. Please handle it according to the contract."

The third call was to the wedding planner.

The staff member spoke in a low voice, as if she were worried I might break down.

She said carefully, "Ms. Robertson, is there any issue with either family? We can work around things, whatever you need."

I went quiet for a couple of seconds.

I replied, "It's not about the process. The groom missed his flight."

They didn't get what I meant.

I didn't feel like explaining.

After hanging up, I sent a group message to all my family and friends.

[The wedding's off. Sorry for any hassle.

[I'll take care of any flight or hotel expenses you've booked.]

As soon as I hit send, my phone started blowing up.

[Did you two fight?] one of my friends messaged.

[Are you being reckless?] a relative texted.

[The wedding's almost here. Can't you two talk things through?] Someone else asked.

I didn't bother replying to every single message.

Then my mom called.

She didn't ask why I canceled the wedding, and she didn't blame Randy either.

She asked, "Where are you?"

I said, "At the wedding apartment."

She asked, "Have you eaten yet?"

I said, "Not yet."

She paused for a moment and then said, "Come home. I'll cook you some pasta."

I sat at the dining table, and suddenly, tears streamed down my face.

It wasn't because of Randy.

It was because, for once, someone cared if I'd eaten, not why I was being difficult.

On my first night in Bayaka, Randy tried calling me seven times.

I didn't answer any of them.

Around eleven, he sent me a photo of the hotel lobby.

All I could see was the snowy window and the front desk. Rhea was nowhere to be seen.

He messaged, [We're in separate rooms. Don't get the wrong idea.]

I zoomed in on the photo and saw in the reflection of the glass door that he was holding that red scarf.

I recognized that scarf.

Last winter, I tried it on in a store.

It was cashmere, super soft, and the red looked amazing.

While I was admiring myself in the mirror, Randy was standing next to me, checking the price tag.

"Eight hundred dollars for a scarf? Not worth it," he said.

I took it off, smiled at him, and agreed, "Yeah, you're right."

The truth was that I really liked it.

Later, I added it to my cart and kept coming back to it, but in the end, I deleted it.

It wasn't because I couldn't afford it.

It was that Randy's "not worth it" made me feel like wanting it was pointless.

He'd taken it to Bayaka.

And it wasn't for me.

At midnight, a mutual friend sent me a screenshot.

Rhea had posted on her social media.

In the photo, she was standing in the snow, wearing that red scarf around her neck.

I couldn't see Randy's face, just a man's hand in the frame beside her.

The caption read: [Ten years later, someone still remembers I can't stand the cold.]

My friend was furious. She sent me a whole string of voice messages.

[Nicole, is that Randy in the picture?

[He said he was away for work, didn't he?

[Your wedding is literally next week. How could he pull something like this?]

I stared at the screenshot, my finger hovering over the screen for a long time.

Rhea didn't mention any names.

She didn't even post anything suggestive.

But she knew I'd understand what she meant.

She also knew our mutual friends would see it.

I saved the screenshot and put it in a new folder.

I named the folder: [Don't Look Back.]

I used to think that when someone was heartbroken, they'd break down, demand answers, and do whatever it took to get the truth.

But that day, all I felt was exhaustion.

It felt like a phone that was always plugged in but never fully charged, and then one day it shut off.

It wasn't broken.

It didn't want to turn on anymore.

Randy found out the wedding was off on the morning of the third day.

He must've just woken up.

I'd finished breakfast with my mom when my phone started buzzing nonstop.