The sender's profile picture was eerily similar to Denver’s—almost like a matching set for couples.
“I heard Denver found himself a knockoff version of me. That must be you, right? I can’t wait to see your expression tomorrow when you finally meet me,” read the malicious message, each word sinking into my chest like nails.
I didn’t reply.
Instead, I turned to my supervisor with unwavering determination. “I’m calling off the wedding. My career comes first. He’s not worth sacrificing everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
My supervisor nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “That’s the Foley I know. You were never the type to revolve your life around a man. I’ll send you the contract tomorrow—be ready to leave in five days!”
Her words brought a mix of emotions swirling inside me.
There was a time when I was willing to stay put, to build a life around Denver. But now, he had trampled on my love, my heart. If that’s how it was, I wouldn’t look back either.
When I returned to the private room, Denver had sobered up a bit and everyone else was preparing to head home.
Denver instinctively reached for my hand, but as his fingers touched my cold skin, he frowned. Without a word, he poured me a cup of warm water.
“Your hands are freezing. Why didn’t you wear something warmer? You’re old enough to take better care of yourself.”
“I forgot. I was going to get you some hangover medicine, but none of the stores nearby were open.”
As usual, the people around us joked about how close Denver and I were. But this time, their laughter was tinged with mockery. On the way home, silence hung between Denver and me.
He seemed in a great mood, constantly checking his phone, his face lighting up with a smile I’d never seen before. I went to bed with a heavy heart, tossing and turning all night. When I finally fell asleep, I was jolted awake at dawn by Denver.
“Get to the market early and buy some fresh groceries. We’ve got important guests coming over today.”
The sudden wake-up call gave me a pounding headache.
Denver didn’t notice my discomfort; he was too busy adjusting his tie in the mirror. Then he left without a second glance, only tossing a parting comment over his shoulder. “Make sure the house is spotless,” he called out as he walked out the door. “Oh and no spicy food.”
Watching his retreating figure, I chuckled bitterly.
For years, Denver would patiently pick out the chili peppers from our meals. To avoid wasting his efforts, I—a Northerner who grew up loving spicy food—forced myself to adapt to his taste. Now, I realized that even this small habit of his stemmed from Sabrina. Rising from the bed, I crossed out the “wedding photoshoot” from our shared calendar and replaced it with a countdown to my departure. Then, I began packing.
Opening the wardrobe, I saw the gifts Denver had showered on me—brand-new Hermès bags, an array of chic pastel dresses and plush toys. The saccharine pinks stood in stark contrast to my usual monochrome aesthetic.
Pausing, I reopened Sabrina’s social media account. Sure enough, every single item Denver had given me matched something she owned.
Scrolling through her posts, Denver’s figure appeared repeatedly—in photos of them strolling under the Eiffel Tower, basking on Maldivian beaches.
My birthday. Our anniversary. Valentine’s Day.
At her slightest beck and call, Denver would hop on a plane, flying across continents to be by her side.
“This is what you called urgent matter at work, huh?” I whispered, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat.
I fought back tears, gathering everything Denver had ever given me—along with the wedding supplies we had just bought—and tossed it all into the trash.
By the time I was done, the sun was high in the sky.
