Chapter 1

On my wedding day, my fiancé ditched me to help his "first love" find her daughter.

I smiled and said, "Go ahead, it's fine."

Because I'd said it countless times before.

The anniversary dinner went cold. I said it was fine.

I ate the birthday cake alone. I said it was fine.

Left stranded in the suburbs during a downpour, I said it was fine.

Those words were the mask I welded onto myself.

Once I said it, I gained the superpower of being invulnerable.

But later, my fiancé still casually told me to be understanding, promising he'd make it up to me with another grand wedding.

Instead, he took his "first love" to the very honeymoon resort I'd booked.

She had her arm around my fiancé, and he held her daughter in his arms.

She said, "Grateful for this encounter."

I knew that this time, I couldn't say "it's fine."

I had to say, "Goodbye."

*****

The wedding was about to begin.

My fiancé's phone rang.

It was Linda Foster, the "first love" in his life. "Charles, Nora's missing. Can you..."

I stared at Charles, and he stared at his phone.

In the end, Charles gave me that same familiar hug, just like he'd done countless times before. "Evelyn, I'm really sorry. Nora's just a little kid, and Linda isn't feeling well. I have to take care of them..."

I caught the makeup artist's shocked and careful look of sympathy behind me.

Sadness crawled all over my heart, like a thousand tiny needles pricking me from the inside.

Funny thing was, I didn't feel a single bit of pain.

"The ceremony's in an hour. Can't you wait?" I heard my own hollow voice, trying to hold him back.

Honestly, I knew he'd never stay.

"Evelyn, you don't get it. Nora's missing this time," Charles said. "Her smartwatch pinged her location outside the city, then it just went dead.

"The cops said they won't even start a case for 24 hours. Oh God.

"If something happens to Nora before then, I'll never be able to live with myself."

The makeup artist's shocked look faded, replaced by a sympathy tinged with something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

But I was too exhausted to even bother wondering what it was. "You owe everyone an explanation. Everyone's out there waiting for us."

My parents had just gotten back from their trip around the world, and they were already sitting in the banquet hall, luggage still in hand.

Charles's parents had just arrived too, exhausted from their journey, sitting right there in the hall alongside mine.

They'd spent six hours on the road to get here, and last night, stayed up with me until dawn, making sure every detail of the wedding was perfect.

Charles looked genuinely torn for a moment.

But then, just as quickly, he brushed it off like it was nothing.

"Just do me a favor and tell them I'm sorry, will you?" Charles said. "You always handle this kind of thing so well.

"I really have to go now, alright?"

I looked him straight in the eye, and this time, I managed a smile.

Even my own voice sounded so gentle and reasonable, like I was the one comforting him.

"Go ahead," I said softly. "I'll handle it."

Charles pressed a hurried kiss to the top of my head, like he was sealing a deal.

He said, "Wait for me."

The door closed with a soft click.

Three seconds of heavy silence filled the makeup room.

Then the young makeup artist asked, carefully and hesitantly, "Evelyn, so do we still go ahead with the makeup?"

I stared at the woman in the mirror, wearing her wedding gown.

No one knew the bride had been abandoned at the altar by her own groom.

Outside, the hall was already full, everyone waiting for the wedding to start.

The flower girl stood at the end of the aisle, clutching the rings, waiting for her cue.

The emcee fiddled with the mic, making sure everything was ready.

I slowly sat down, the skirt of my wedding dress fanned out over the chair, looking like a flower withering away.

"Don't worry about it. Just finish the makeup, then you can clock out," I said.

I picked up my phone and sent a message to the emcee.

[The wedding's off. Please let the guests know. Sorry for making everyone come out for nothing today.]

After sending the message, I set my phone down.

"You can head out now," I said. "I just want to be alone for a bit."

The makeup artist hesitated for a moment, grabbed her bag, and softly closed the door behind her as she slipped out.

The room felt emptier than ever. Now, it was just me, left all alone.

The makeup artist's eyes were teary, and she looked like she wanted to say something, but I stopped her with a wave of my hand.

The emcee's voice faintly came through the speakers.

The guests erupted in a commotion.

Someone started knocking, hoping I'd let them in.

Some people tried to say something comforting.

But I waved them off, telling everyone, "I just need to be alone."

In the end, only our parents were left at the door.

But they were caught up in a heated argument, so wrapped up in their own fight that they seemed to forget there was a heartbroken girl just inside.

It was as if the heartbroken bride inside didn't even exist.

Finally, Charles's parents stormed off, absolutely furious.

"You two are so irresponsible," they growled. "This whole wedding turned into a circus.

"If you ever try to get married again, count us out."

But my parents didn't back down either. "Maybe you should worry about finding your runaway groom first.

"And next time my daughter gets married, you won't even be on the guest list."

Once the argument was over, it was like they'd finally wrapped up some weird family tradition.

Everyone just grabbed their baggage and went back to their own lives, like nothing ever happened.

I'd known since I was little that I never really had a close bond with my parents.

But I never imagined that, at a moment like this, I wouldn't even get the chance to say a single extra word to them.

I took off my wedding dress and hung it back in its garment bag.

The moment I shed that wedding dress, it felt as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted. I suddenly felt so much lighter.

I walked out of the hotel and called a cab to take me home.

Once I was in the car, I opened my phone's photo album and typed "Charles Bennett" into the search bar.

Only a handful of photos popped up, fewer than ten in total.

I tapped through them one by one.

In every single photo, his expression was so half-hearted, like he was just going through the motions.

Some showed him glued to his phone, some had those fake smiles when I pulled him in for a selfie, and others caught him just zoning out with a drink at the dinner table.

There was only one photo where he actually looked happy, like he meant it.

I zoomed in on it, my heart aching.

It was taken at Linda's place last Christmas.

Nora was nestled in his arms, Linda was leaning on his shoulder, and the three of them were smiling like they belonged in a picture-perfect family ad.

Who was behind the camera? Me.

I stared at the screen for a long time, then deleted them one by one.

Just as I was about to delete the last one, a notification popped up on my phone.

Linda had just posted a new update.

The photo showed Nora piggybacking on Charles, with the caption: [Grateful to have you.]

I held down the post, selected "Mute her updates," then locked my phone.

I'd been with Charles for three years, and for three and a half years, he'd taken care of Linda and her family without ever hesitating, always putting them first, no matter what.

Everyone always says you should marry someone who's good to the core.

Charles was tall, handsome, charming, and had a successful career.

But above all, he was kind.

After his best friend Joseph Foster passed away, Charles was always there for Linda, comforting her through her grief and making Nora feel like a princess every single day.

I used to envy the way Charles always put Linda first.

He'd hold me close and say, "When we have our own kid, I'll love them even more."

I really thought I'd finally found my safe place, my home.

But looking back now, it was like I was just the live-in nanny for their little family.

When Nora got sick, Charles drove them to the hospital.

I was the one who dealt with the payments and handled all the doctor stuff.

I set up Nora's meals at the hospital.

Even when they were discharged, I was the one who cleaned Linda's house so it'd be spotless when they got back.

Every time, Charles would look at me with guilt and say, "I'm sorry."

And I'd always reply, "It's fine," almost on autopilot, like I couldn't help myself.

But honestly, how could it ever really be fine?

Last year, on our anniversary, I went all out.

I booked a French restaurant a week in advance, snagged a window seat with a river view.

I wore his favorite dress, got a four-hour spa, and spent two hours on my makeup.

At seven, he still hadn't shown up.

At seven twenty, he texted me: [Linda's car broke down on the highway. I have to go pick her up. Baby, just eat first; don't wait for me.]

I replied: [Okay.]

So I ordered a couple of dishes and a bottle of red wine, just for myself.

When the steak arrived, it was still hot. I cut off a small piece and tasted it.

At eight thirty, he sent another text: [The mechanic said the car won't be fixed until tomorrow. I took Linda and Nora home. Nora cried the whole way, so I'll be staying with them tonight.]

I stared at his message for a long moment, then set my phone down, screen first, on the table.

The steak had gone cold.

The sauce congealed on the plate, turning into a pale, greasy film.

I ate it anyway.

Just me, alone.

When I was paying the bill, the waiter asked, "Where's your fiancé?"

I said, "He had something to take care of."

It was fine. I could handle this alone.

That was the lie I kept repeating to myself.

And then there was that other time.

We'd promised to go pick out wedding dresses together.

It was already the third boutique I'd tried. This one was way out in the suburbs, so I had to drive all the way there myself.

That day, the rain was coming down in sheets, and I sat alone in the showroom, waiting for him for two whole hours.

Over those two hours, my texts went from "Drive safe" to "Are you okay?" and finally to "I'm just gonna take a cab home."

He never replied.