I watched my former fiancée marry my father today.
No one clapped when the officiant said, “You may kiss the bride.”
No one smiled either.
My father leaned in with all the warmth of a man signing paperwork, and Chloe turned her face for him to kiss her cheek.
It did not feel like a wedding.
It felt like a lie.
I watched my former fiancée marry my father today.
Three months ago, Chloe and I had been planning OUR wedding.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, inside and out, and I felt like the luckiest man in the world when she agreed to marry me.
I thought we were so happy together.
Until she disappeared one day.
For a week, I thought she’d run off and left me.
Then she came back and broke my heart all over again.
She disappeared one day.
The day she returned, I heard a knock on the door.
When I answered it, there she stood, arm-in-arm with my father.
“I’m getting married,” my father announced, patting Chloe’s hand. “Aren’t you going to wish us happiness?”
I stared at them, dumfounded. “What do you mean?”
“I’m breaking off the engagement,” Chloe said. “I’m marrying Arthur. Don’t make a scene. I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Aren’t you going to wish us happiness?”
My world ended that day.
I stared at them a few minutes longer, then shut the door in their faces.
I didn’t demand answers. I cut off all contact with them, ignoring her messages and his calls.
Then, as if they hadn’t humiliated me enough, they sent me a wedding invitation. My dad had added a few lines:
Come. We’ll be waiting.
I don’t know why I did it, but I went.
I cut off all contact with them.
And now the ceremony was over.
