Before going to bed that night, while Vincent was in the shower, I saw Zoe’s new post on her social media feed.
Nine photos.
She wore my wedding dress, smiling radiantly as she held onto my fiancé.
[Getting married to the one I love! Xixixi!]
Dozens of their friends liked the post.
Someone even commented, [Wait, isn’t that Vincent in the background?]
Zoe’s smug reply, [Yes! My brother favours me the most!]
I quietly liked the post, put my phone away and got ready for bed.
I just lay down briefly when the bed beside me dented. Vincent’s cold skin pressed against mine as he slid an arm around my waist.
“Claire...” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. His hand slipped under the hem of my nightgown, fingers trailing along my skin.
I shifted slightly, putting space between us. Then I gently grabbed his hand and said, “Vincent, I’m tired tonight. I don’t want to.”
In all the years we had been together, I never refused him.
In the past, whenever we lost our temper, it was almost always resolved in bed. Vincent loved taking his time, teasing and coaxing me into surrender until I begged for him.
And afterwards, he would hold me tightly, whispering sweet nothings and asking me not to be jealous anymore.
But tonight, I felt nothing.
It hit me that, with my decision to leave so close, none of this really mattered anymore.
After I turned him down that night, Vincent froze for a moment, his body stiff with tension. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask why I had rejected him. He just muttered a quiet “Okay” and turned his back to me.
That night, the space between us felt as far as the Milky Way.
The following day, Vincent was gone before I woke up. I don’t know if he was afraid I would be jealous of Zoe’s circle of friends.
But a surprise was waiting on the dining table—a plate of slightly burnt toast, a fried egg and a glass of milk—a rare gesture from someone who had never made breakfast.
Beside the plate was a sticky note: “For my wife—enjoy.”
My phone buzzed with a message from him,
Vincent: [Honey, I’ve put the wedding dress in the study. Try it on and send me a photo—I know you’ll look the most beautiful.]
I finished the toast (a bit charred but edible) and headed to a stationery store, where I bought a countdown calendar. Back home, I tore off the first page. There were six days left.
Then I got to work packing.