"Fine, don't apologize. But you'd better make up for it with action! Call everyone and tell them you're the one who called off the wedding!"
Before I could refuse, he hung up.
Then a text came through:
"Grace, I'm begging you, please stop making a scene. I'm just going with Nellie for her treatment. It's not like I'm never coming back to marry you. Canceling the wedding is just so we can save your dream ceremony for the perfect time."
Those familiar words stung, burning behind my eyes.
The perfect time.
I'd been hearing that for eight years. Nearly three thousand days and nights, waiting for him to marry me.
And what I got instead was him leaving to be with another woman for two years.
Mark Rowe, I'm done waiting for you.
Because we were never right for each other.
The message disappeared. He'd unsent it.
A new one popped up:
"That last message wasn't appropriate for Nellie to see. She's been really sensitive since she got sick. Just do what I asked, okay? Whatever I owe you, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you after these two years!"
I actually laughed out loud.
I waited two minutes. Sure enough, he unsent that one too.
So which was it? Was he lying to me, or to himself?
He'd already made up his mind to stay by Nellie's side until she recovered. Why bother promising me two years?
And if she never got better, was I supposed to wait forever?
I shook my head, forcing the thought away.
I typed a single word: "Okay." Hit send.
A red exclamation mark. Message failed.
He'd already deleted me. Couldn't even wait, all so he could keep Nellie happy.
Fine by me.
I didn't care. I posted on social media that the wedding was off.
The questions flooded in almost instantly. Why? What happened?
I didn't want drama, so I stuck to Mark's script and said it was my decision.
But my friends weren't buying it. The messages poured in:
"Grace, Mark isn't that broke nobody he used to be. Every woman in the city would throw herself at him now. You cancel this wedding, and you're basically handing your man to someone else on a silver platter!"
I didn't reply.
Because Mark was already someone else's husband.
Shortly after my post went up, Nellie sent me a photo of their marriage certificate.
Her tone dripped with triumph as she thanked me for my generous assistance.
"Grace, thanks so much for the assist! Mark was originally just going to accompany me as my boyfriend, but to make it easier to sign medical forms for me, he rushed and got us legally married!"
I didn't dignify it with a response. Delete. Block. Done.
My phone buzzed again. My mother, calling to chew me out.
"What is wrong with you? The fruit's right there on the branch and you won't pick it! What are you trying to prove? By the time you come to your senses, he might not want to marry you anymore!"
A dry laugh escaped me.
"What if he's the one who doesn't want to get married?"
She went silent for a beat, then laid into me even harder.
"Then you clearly did something wrong! Swallow your pride, sweet-talk him, patch things up. Don't tell me you followed that man for all these years just to walk away with nothing!"
Eight years loving Mark Rowe. He always said the same thing: career first, then family.
But when success finally came, when he had the house and the car, building a family with me wasn't what he had in mind.
It wasn't that I hadn't tried. Trying just didn't matter.
For eight years, I'd been by his side through everything. The startup grind. The basement apartment. The instant noodles. I'd swallowed my pride a thousand times over, telling him I dreamed of being his wife, for richer or poorer.
I'd even given up three pregnancies.
Because he said the timing wasn't right. He didn't want a child suffering alongside them.
I loved him, so whatever he said, no matter how much it gutted me, I went along with it.
Just like tonight, when he said he wanted to be there for Nellie's treatment.
