Good bye, My Fiancee, You Hurt me!

The morning I was supposed to marry Marco, I found out he had prepared a proposal ring for another woman. It happened because the butler thought I was still upstairs. I had come down earlier than usual, dressed not in the white suit Anastacia had sent for the civil registry, but in a plain beige coat that covered the bruises on my arm. My suitcase stood by the side door. My passport was already in my bag. The house that once smelled of roses and wedding invitations now smelled of dust, empty drawers, and the faint sweetness of the cake Marco had sent the day before. Blueberry cheesecake. My allergy. Camille’s favorite. It sat untouched on the dining table like a final joke. I was reaching for the envelope I had left beside it when I heard the butler’s voice outside the half-open study door. “Yes, sir. Everything is ready for tonight… No, Miss Shania doesn’t know. Sir Marco said the registry appointment is only to calm her down first. Afterward, he’ll take Miss Camille to the private dinner and propose there.” My fingers froze around the envelope. The butler lowered his voice, but every word still reached me clearly. “Yes. The ring has arrived. Sir Marco said Miss Shania has been emotional lately, so no one is to mention the proposal in front of her.” For a few seconds, I felt nothing. Not anger. Not grief. Not even surprise. I only looked at the blueberry cheesecake on the table and suddenly understood that Marco had not forgotten one thing about me. He had forgotten all of me. Today’s civil wedding was fake. Tonight’s proposal was real. And I had almost spent another morning waiting for him. The butler turned and saw me. His face went white. “Miss Shania…” I smiled at him. It must have frightened him more than tears, because he stepped back without another word. I took the envelope from the table. Inside was the engagement ring Marco had given me years ago, the one I had once worn so carefully that I took it off before washing my hands, afraid even water might dull it. Beside it was a short note. Congratulations on getting what you wanted. I placed the envelope next to the cake. Then I walked upstairs one last time. The bedroom was almost empty. My clothes were gone. The jewelry Marco’s family had given me had been returned. The photos had been taken down. Even the white gown from the wedding banquet had been sealed in a box and sent away before dawn. Only one thing remained on the dresser. A framed picture from our childhood. Marco and I were fourteen in it. He had cake frosting on his cheek. I was laughing at him, wearing a cheap paper crown from his birthday party. Back then, everyone said we were born to be together. Even after my parents died, I believed it. Marco became my habit, my refuge, my future. I had loved him for so long that leaving him felt less like ending a relationship and more like cutting out a part of my own history. But history was not love. And habit was not a home. Downstairs, the front door opened. For one absurd moment, I thought it was Marco. It was not. Daniel, one of his old friends, stood in the entryway with a gift bag in his hand. He looked surprised to see my suitcase. “Shania? You’re leaving already? Marco told us to come celebrate after the registry. I thought today was finally your big day.” “It is,” I said. His expression eased a little. “Then why the luggage?” “Because I’m not marrying Marco.” Daniel stared at me. “What?” I buttoned my coat. “He has another celebration tonight. You should stay for that.” He looked confused, then uneasy. “Did something happen again? Is this about Camille?” I almost laughed. Everything was about Camille now. Her fever. Her tears. Her injury. Her fear. Her need to be comforted. Her need to be seen. Her need to take the place that had once been mine and then cry as if I had stolen something from her. But I was tired of saying her name. I passed Daniel and stepped out into the pale morning light. The car my uncle had arranged waited by the east gate, black and quiet. I had not wanted to call my uncle. For years, he had warned me that Marco loved me like something already owned. I had called him cold, controlling, and unfair. When he once suggested a marriage alliance to protect my parents’ remaining assets, I had refused without hesitation, because I believed Marco was my only future. Last night, after hearing about the proposal, I finally picked up the phone. My uncle answered on the second ring. “Shania?” His voice was cautious, as if he already knew that nothing good could come from a call at midnight. I looked at the cake Marco had sent me and spoke before my courage failed. “Uncle, the marriage arrangement you mentioned before… does it still stand?” A long silence followed. Then his voice sharpened. “What happened?” I closed my eyes. In my mind, the past week rose like broken glass: the empty wedding banquet, Marco’s hand striking my face, the truck headlights, the birthday party whispers, the man who touched me while Marco watched and doubted me, Camille’s smile when she thought I could not see. I said only, “Marco postponed our wedding again for Camille. Then he prepared a proposal for her on the day he was supposed to register with me.” My uncle’s breathing changed. “I’ll send a car.” “Send more than that,” I whispered. “Send the papers too.” “Shania, are you certain?” I opened my eyes. The girl who had waited twenty years for Marco to choose her was already dead. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll marry the man you chose.”