Chapter 2

He told me he hated taking photos. On every holiday and anniversary, I was the one who gave him gifts, but he scoffed at such formalities. I meticulously planned our trips, dinners, and dates, but he insisted they were a waste of time, better spent making money. Over the years, I've transitioned from complaining to gradually adapting and accepting. All along, it was only me who was changing and compromising.

This realization now fills my heart with unbearable pain. It's not that I couldn't change or compromise, but rather that I wasn't truly valued. During our seven years together, I often envied other women's boyfriends, convincing myself that Douglas just had a different way of showing love, and that he still cared for me. But now I question, was Douglas's love telling me not to disturb his sleep when I was upset? Was Douglas's idea of care advising me to drink more hot coffee when I was sick? Was his version of affection giving me roses—my least favorite flower—on every birthday?

I became numb to my self-delusions. The last time Douglas met with his friends visiting from abroad, he called me halfway through. I rushed to the restaurant, feeling a flutter of excitement; after all, this was the first time Douglas had invited me to meet his friends. But as I reached the entrance, I overheard their unguarded conversation.

"What? You're really getting married? I thought you didn't love her. Is this just to prove a point?"

Douglas's cold reply sent a chill through my heart: "Does it really matter whether you love someone or not?" This ambiguous answer was unsettling. Before I could fully process it, the door opened. Seeing me, Douglas stood up, pulled me close, wrapped his arm around my waist, and with a chuckle, introduced me, "Let me introduce you all—this is my fiancée."

Hearing those words brought a fleeting sense of relief. I looked at Douglas, pouring my heart into that gaze, missing the brief flicker of panic in his eyes. But now, everything is clear—crystal clear. I can no longer deceive myself.

I tried to lift my head to stop the tears, but accidentally noticed a couple’s matching jackets in the trash bin. I've always envied couples wearing coordinated outfits, so I bought a set for Douglas. On the day I gave it to him, he wasn't thrilled and complained impatiently, "Don't buy these things again. We're too old for such childish stuff." Seeing him wear it eventually brought me joy.

The documents clearly stated that Douglas didn't like that jacket, explaining why it ended up in the trash. I took out my phone, intending to call Douglas to end things, but when I opened our chat, our last conversation was from two weeks ago. I had asked him about his preference for wedding ring styles, but he never replied.

Almost involuntarily, I clicked into Douglas’s social media profile. The latest—and only—pinned post was a photo from a trip, featuring the silhouette of a girl who wasn't me. I laughed bitterly, collapsing to the floor. How could I have been so blind all this time?

I always believed that Douglas and I genuinely loved each other. But now, with everything laid bare, the stark truth is evident. There's just one week left until our wedding day. I've set several alarms to remind myself daily that I'm about to marry Douglas.