We used to be so in love that the air itself tasted sweet whenever we were together. Only now did I finally wake up. In her eyes, I was just the spare—a man who could be swapped out for someone else whenever it suited her.
"Paddy, you know where Basil came from. You know how hard he had to claw his way to where he is now. His parents, his sisters, they're all proud of him."
"That punch didn't just injure him—you crushed his dignity in front of everyone. Do you have any idea how much he's cried these past few days?"
"His coworkers are treating him like a joke. Behind his back they're saying he's a nobody who doesn't know his place."
"Every bit of humiliation he's suffered is because of you."
"All you have to do is apologize, and this whole thing goes away."
"The wedding goes on as planned."
Jean said all of this like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
She even looked at me with judgment in her eyes.
But she didn't know why I'd hit Basil.
She'd never once bothered to ask—just chose his side without a second thought.
This had nothing to do with an apology anymore. Jean's stance told me exactly where her heart was.
Her own fiancé mattered less to her than her assistant. It would have been funny if it weren't so pathetic.
"It's fine, President Henson. Paddy didn't mean to hit me. If he doesn't want to apologize, that's okay. It's a small thing. I'll... I'll swallow it."
"As for the coworkers laughing at me, let them laugh."
"It's not like it's going to kill me."
The more gracious Basil acted, the more convinced Jean became that I was dead wrong.
Unforgivably wrong.
"Hmph!"
"Basil, stop making excuses for him. He's had it too easy for too long—now he actually thinks he's somebody."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure he pays for this."
The moment she finished, Jean pulled out her phone and dialed the police right in front of me.
She didn't hit call right away, though.
She looked at me. "Are you going to apologize or not?"
I shook my head. Calm.
"Fine. Have it your way—you won't cry until you see the coffin."
"If you won't apologize, then go sit in a cell and think about what you've done."
I watched her make the call.
When the police officers arrived at the dressing room,
she pointed at me. "He assaulted someone."
They asked me if it was true.
I didn't argue. Didn't explain.
"She's right. I did."
And so,
on my wedding day, the police took me away.
When the news spread,
every friend and relative we had couldn't believe it.
Assault. Eight months.
Before I went in,
Jean came to the detention room to see me.
She looked at me coldly, and her voice dropped the temperature of the room by several degrees.
"I asked you to apologize. I didn't ask you to jump off a building."
"Was saying 'I'm sorry' really that hard?"
"Did you have to go to prison to be happy?"
I leaned back in the chair and looked at her without expression.
"Spit it out."
Her face tightened. "You're absolutely hopeless. Eight months isn't that long. Consider it a lesson. And at least it gives Basil some closure."
"I've already spoken with the hotel. The wedding is postponed. Once you're out, we proceed as planned."
"Use every one of those eight months to reflect on what you did."
"And when you walk out of here, I want to hear you say it to my face—that you were wrong."
