Chapter 2

My phone buzzed.

A message from my mother popped up.

[I'm glad you came to your senses, sweetheart. Leave the arrangements to me.]

[We don't need to cancel the venue. We'll just change the groom's name on the marquee.]

I typed back: [Okay.]

I locked the screen and looked up.

Around me was the lush greenery I loved, the warm modern layout, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

Wesley had spent ten years saving for this place, and I had spent three years turning it into our dream home.

Yet from the day the keys were handed over to the day the furniture was moved in, he had never stepped foot inside once.

The phone buzzed again.

A notification from Wesley.

He had created a group chat on SnapChat, but the person typing was Lauren.

Links to digital wedding invites flooded the screen, one after another.

Lauren: [Hey Clara! Wesley's super busy signing these contracts for me, so he didn't have time to finish the paper cards. I went ahead and designed some digital templates! Take a look and let me know which one you like best!]

I clicked the link.

Every single template was covered in floating pink hearts.

And right above the couple's names, there was a permanent watermark: *Designed by Lauren*.

[Lauren] [Wesley] [Clara]

Her name was slightly smaller, in a softer gray font, but it sat visibly closer to Wesley's name than mine did.

It was a blatant, petty territory claim.

If this were the old me, I would’ve blown up at Wesley.

Now, I knew arguing was completely useless.

Seeing that I hadn't responded, Wesley tagged me.

Wesley: [Take a look. I think they look great.]

Wesley: [Pink is your favorite color, right?]

He was wrong again.

Even after countless times, the sting still punched the wind out of my lungs.

I pressed a hand to my chest and typed back:

[Don't bother.]

The chat went silent for three seconds. Then, Wesley’s call came tearing through my speakers.

His voice was dripping with irritation.

"Clara, can you stop acting like a child?"

"We're literally days away from getting married! How much longer are you going to throw a tantrum over nothing?"

"Lauren worked her butt off making those digital invites for you! You don't even say thank you, and you won't even look at them? What is your problem?"

"What did she ever do to you?"

"If you keep pulling this crap, maybe we shouldn't even bother having a wedding!"

"I don't have the energy to babysit your mood swings anymore!"

"Call me when you've grown up!"

A tear hit the corner of my lip. It tasted bitter and salty.

"Fine. We won't have it."

"Wesley, we're over."

Wesley let out a scoffing laugh.

"Clara, how old are you again? Can you use your brain before you talk?"

"Do you think breaking up is something you can throw around as a joke?"

I looked at our framed portrait resting against the wall.

"I'm not joking."

"And Wesley... I hate pink."

"You're dumping me over a color?"

"Yes. Over a color."

Wesley's patience snapped.

"Didn't I tell you how slammed I am with clients?"

"I have a million things to remember every single day! I slipped up on one tiny detail, and you're holding it against me? Can't you show a little bit of empathy for once?"

"I've shown empathy."

I had shown empathy for thirteen years.

When he forgot my favorite food, I quietly ordered something else. When he bought the wrong color, I accepted it with a smile. When he forgot my birthday, I bought my own cake. When he forgot to buy gifts for my parents during the holidays, I bought them with my own money and told my family they were from him.

He never had to explain himself. I always found an excuse for him first.

And now, simply stating a fact was labeled as "throwing a tantrum."

"If you're so empathetic, then pick a damn template already!" Wesley barked through the receiver.

I pulled the phone an inch away from my ear.

A digital invite... was really unnecessary now.

I took the framed photo off the wall and set it on the floor. Then, I took out the deed to the house.

"Come by the house tonight. I have some things to give you—"

Before I could finish, Wesley cut me off.

"Give me what? You're just trying to trick me into coming over so you can force me to write those stupid cards!"

"Clara, stop being so backward and stubborn."

"Don't push me."

With that, the line went dead.

He had hung up on me again.

I didn't even know when it started, but he had completely stopped listening to anything I said.

He only heard what he wanted to hear.

Even though I had told him we were breaking up, twice.

I opened my remaining unread messages.

A text from my mother.

She had sent an image.

It was an invitation on deep crimson cardstock. The calligraphy was written in crisp, elegant black ink dusted with fine gold shimmer.

Groom: Julian Thorne.

Bride: Clara Vance.

My mother asked: [What do you think?]

[He practiced for an entire day just to get these few lines right for you.]

I typed back: [It's gorgeous. Tell him thank you.]

Wesley never understood.

It was never about the piece of paper. He had practiced his handwriting for five years, yet he refused to write my name.

I wanted a future built with him, but all he gave me was a cold, empty house in the suburbs where I sat alone.

What I wanted had always been simple.

Respect. And real, honest love.

After thirteen years, my heart finally landed on solid ground.

I called the venue coordinator and officially updated the groom's name.

I paid the deposit directly from my own checking account, and the original funds were refunded back to Wesley's account.

After staring at the screen for a long time, I sent him one last text.

[Find some time to come by the house this week.]

I needed to return everything that belonged to him and make a clean break.

Then, I would step into a future that didn't have him in it.