Ten Years Waiting, Only to Receive His Wedding Invitation

I waited for Bryson Green for ten years. And today, all I got was an invitation to his wedding—with Nancy Moore.

The heat outside felt stifling as I returned to the office, my chest heavy. Inside, my colleagues were crowded around, chatting animatedly. I barely noticed them, lost in my own thoughts, until a familiar name drifted through the air.

"Nancy is getting married."

My feet felt cemented to the floor.

"Nancy? Hasn’t she been waiting for someone? Did she really wait all this time?"

"Seems like it. Ten years, they say. Just look at her pictures—the guy has hands like a model. He must be gorgeous."

"And those rings! Nancy designed them herself. It’s so romantic."

Hearing Nancy broke through my haze. I approached, managing a light chuckle. "Which Nancy? Can I see?"

The chatter softened as one of them handed me a phone, hesitating. "Miss Lewis, it’s the model Nancy. This is her Instagram."

I tapped on a photo of two hands intertwined, fingers laced, their rings sparkling. I zoomed in, taking in the intricate design—Nancy’s own creation.

My colleagues continued murmuring around me.

"She waited for him for ten years. I could never wait that long."

"Same. Ten years is way too long. One year would be my limit."

Ten years. They said it was impossible. But Nancy had waited—and now everyone admired her patience and celebrated her happiness.

And what about my ten years?

Mine had been spent in silence, pouring over his photos in the dark, my love hidden from everyone. No one would marvel at my wait; no one even knew.

I forced a smile, my vision blurring, and quickly returned the phone before they could see my tears. I turned and left in a hurry, feeling like I had to escape.

Once inside my office, I shut the door, my heart pounding in the quiet. I could no longer hold back the tears, and I no longer cared who saw.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed loudly in the office. Would my colleagues think I was upset about their gossip?

If I stayed silent, would they assume I was angry?

I couldn't care less. I could barely manage myself right now.

Sitting at my desk, I stared at the official announcement photo again, scrutinizing it like a voyeur. Every detail felt like a sharp jab, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

It wasn’t until a knock broke the silence that I put my phone down.

"Come in," I called out, my voice raspy and strained, as though I’d been crying.

To avoid suspicion, I quickly grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down before sitting up straight.

My assistant entered, carrying a package.

“Miss Lewis, this just arrived for you,” she said, placing it on my desk.

I frowned. “Where did this come from? Are you sure it’s mine?”

“Yes, it’s addressed to you. Could someone have sent it by mistake?”

Someone else? I doubted it, but I waved her off, waiting until the door clicked shut before turning my attention to the package.

It was a simple envelope, but the sender’s name hit me like a lightning bolt.

Bryson Green.

Ten years. Ten years of silence. No letters, no messages. If it weren’t for the photos I still had, I might’ve forgotten what he looked like.

But now, on the day Nancy’s engagement was the talk of the office, he sent me this.

Why?

Was this his way of showing me how happy they were? Of rubbing their love in my face?

My fingers trembled as I tried to open the package. My hands, usually so steady, fumbled clumsily, slipping over the paper again and again. Frustration bubbled up until it boiled over. I ripped into the envelope with jagged motions, tearing it open violently.

Inside was a single wedding invitation.

I stared at it for a long moment before laughing.

He didn’t even write their names on it.

Not the bride. Not the groom.

As if he couldn’t risk me refusing. As if he needed to make sure I came—to see their happiness for myself, to witness the love he had chosen that wasn’t me.