Eight years loving Harrison, and his refrain never changed: career first, family later.
But when success finally came, when he had the house and the car, it wasn't a home with me he wanted to build.
It wasn't that I hadn't tried. Trying just didn't matter.
For eight years, I'd been by his side through every struggle. The basement apartment. The instant noodles. I'd swallowed my pride and told him a thousand times that marrying him was all I'd ever dreamed of, rich or poor.
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 hurt, I went along with it.
Just like tonight, when he told me he wanted to get legally married to his childhood sweetheart.
In that moment, even as my heart was being carved open, I felt something I hadn't expected.
Relief.
Maybe it was better this way. At least I wouldn't have to keep waiting for him like some desperate fool, begging to be chosen.
My mother was still going on about how a woman who knew how to act sweet always got the best deal in life, but the grievance pressing against my chest suddenly lost its need for an audience.
"Mom, the wedding is off. I'm never marrying him."
I hung up and called the wedding planner to cancel tomorrow's ceremony.
The coordinator went quiet for a moment before speaking.
"Mr. Delgado already called about this. But he asked us to keep the decorations and banners in storage for three years. That's going to be difficult. Most of those materials are single-use..."
It hit me instantly. It wasn't that he hadn't had time to notify the guests on both sides.
He just didn't want to deal with the questions.
And he assumed I'd do what those cheap decorations would do—sit in storage and wait for him for three years.
"Throw it all out. Even if it weren't disposable, three years in a warehouse would rot it."
Just like his love for me.
It would decay with time until nothing remained.
After hanging up, I scrolled to my mother-in-law's number and felt a headache coming on.
She despised Claudia Simmons. If she found out her son had already gotten legally married to that woman at City Hall, she'd probably have a stroke.
I took a deep breath and transferred the $88,000 bride price back to her account—every last cent.
I counted to three in my head.
The phone rang.
"Tilda, why did you send the bride price back?"