Chapter 5
1215 Words
“Good morning, Frederick… I’ve always loved you.”
The voice was soft. Familiar. Wrapped in warmth.
Frederick smiled in his sleep.
In his dream, everything was bright…almost painfully so.
He stood at the altar, dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the grand hall filled with white roses and murmuring guests. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows, bathing the aisle in gold.
And there she was.
Sarah.
She walked toward him in a flowing wedding gown, delicate lace hugging her figure, her veil trailing behind her like a promise. Her father stood proudly beside her, his hand resting protectively over hers as he escorted her down the aisle.
Frederick’s chest swelled.
He smiled at her—truly smiled—as if nothing bad had ever happened between them. As if love had never been complicated. As if regret had never existed.
She smiled back.
Step by step, she came closer.
Almost there.
Just a little more, and she would be standing beside him, before the pastor, ready to become his wife all over again.
But then…
She stopped.
The music faltered.
A strange chill rippled through the hall.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from behind him.
“Don’t go to him.”
Frederick frowned.
The voice came again…clearer this time.
“Don’t go to him. Go to Gideon.”
His heart lurched.
“Go to Gideon.”
Frederick turned sharply.
Standing at the other side of the altar was Gideon—his best man, his closest friend. Gideon stood tall, calm, dressed immaculately, his eyes fixed on Sarah with an intensity that made Federick’s stomach twist.
No.
Frederick turned back to Sarah.
She had lifted her gaze…away from him.
Her eyes met Gideon’s.
Time slowed.
She stared at Gideon for a long moment. Too long.
Then she looked back at Frederick, hesitation flickering across her face.
For a split second, hope flared in Frederick’s chest.
But then…
She turned.
She turned away from him.
Gasps filled the hall as Sarah walked past Frederick without another glance. Her gown brushed against him, cold and distant, as if he no longer existed.
She went straight to Gideon.
And before Frederick could move, before he could speak, she rose on her toes and kissed Gideon…deeply, passionately, without restraint.
The hall erupted into noise.
Frederick felt like he was drowning.
“No…!” he shouted. “No, this isn’t real!”
His voice echoed louder than the cheers, louder than the music, louder than the breaking of his own heart.
“It has to be a dream!” he yelled.
Then…
He jolted awake.
His breath came out ragged. His chest felt tight, as if something heavy was crushing him from the inside. His heart pounded violently against his ribs.
Reality rushed back.
He was in his bedroom.
The lights were dim.
Margaret sat beside him on the bed, her face pale with worry, a pillow clutched tightly in her hands.
She said anxiously. “Are you okay? Are you okay? You were shouting.”
He stared at her.
But his mind wasn’t there.
It was still trapped in the image of Sarah walking away from him… choosing Gideon.
He said nothing.
His breathing was uneven, his eyes unfocused.
“Frederick?” Margaret touched his arm. “Am l not talking to you?”
Still, he didn’t respond.
All he could hear was his own thoughts screaming.
Sarah can’t marry him.
She can’t choose Gideon.
That was all his mind kept repeating.
Margaret tugged gently at his arm. “Stand up, baby,” she coaxed. “It’s morning.”
Frederick remained frozen, staring at nothing.
Suddenly, Margaret leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing an unexpected kiss against his lips.
Frederick stiffened.
He pushed her away and threw off the blanket.
“What the hell?” he snapped.
Margaret flinched. “Why weren’t you answering me?” she asked softly, hurt flickering in her eyes. Then she forced a smile. “Anyway…good morning, my love. Breakfast is ready. I made your favorite meal.”
Frederick finally spoke.
“I don’t want it,” he said flatly. “I need to meet someone.”
Without waiting for a response, he stood and began pulling clothes from the wardrobe, his movements sharp and restless.
Margaret frowned. “Where are you going this early?”
He didn’t answer.
“Frederick,” she called. “I’m talking to you.”
Silence.
“Am I not talking to you, babe?”
Still nothing.
“Frederick!” she shouted.
He turned suddenly. “What?” he snapped. “Do you need to know my every movement?”
“Yes!” she said defensively. “I need to know.”
He let out a humorless chuckle. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m your fiancée,” she declared.
He laughed softly…so softly she barely heard it.
“Maybe,” he muttered, “you’re mistaken.”
“What did you say?” Margaret asked.
But he was already walking away.
Minutes later, Margaret watched from the doorway as Frederick stormed out of the house, got into his car, and drove off without another glance.
Frederick didn’t know where he was going.
All he knew was that he needed to see Sarah.
He needed to know if she was okay.
And…if she had already moved on with Gideon.
No, it can't be true. Sarah loved only me. Gideon wouldn’t take her like that. The dream can't be real. Not now. Not like this. He told himself. But doubt gnawed at him.
It had been three days.
Three days since Sarah had left his house.
Three days since he had thrown her out.
When he arrived at her mother’s house, his heart raced as he parked outside the gate. He stepped out of the car and pressed the doorbell.
No answer.
He rang again.
Still nothing.
“At least her mother should be home,” he murmured.
He called out softly. No response.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Beatrice’s number.
No answer.
A strange unease crept up his spine.
He tried Sarah’s number.
For the first time in three days.
Not reachable.
His heart skipped violently.
“No…” he whispered.
He tried again.
Still unreachable.
Panic settled in his chest.
Then he noticed a neighbor walking toward the gate.
“Excuse me,” Frederick said quickly. “Do you know where Sarah and her mother are?”
The man paused. “Oh…They left.”
Frederick frowned. “Left? Where did they go?”
“I don’t know,” the neighbor replied. “They packed and left three days ago.”
Three days. The day she came to sign the divorce letter.
The words echoed in his head.
“Do you know if they’re coming back?” Frederick asked quietly.
The man shook his head. “No idea.”
He staggered back a step, his fingers dragging through his hair.
“She’s really gone…” he whispered.
The words felt unreal. Hollow.
Like they didn’t belong to him.
A sharp pain twisted in his chest, tightening with every breath.
And yet…
He was the one who had driven her away.
The one who had shut the door in her face.
So why…
Why did it feel like he was the one left behind?
- Writer
