He Thought I’d Wait

Chapter 5

3 days before the wedding, Ethan came to my office for the first time.

He hadn't slept all night. A layer of stubble had grown on his jaw. The receptionist knew him and asked if I wanted to let him up.

I said, "Have him wait in the guest area."

Ethan used to come pick me up from work and sit right next to my desk. Some coworkers joked we were like an old married couple. He'd say it was corny, but later at home, he'd ask me when we could finally drop the "like."

Now he stood outside the glass door, waiting for my permission for the first time.

I finished my handover before going out.

"You have a bad stomach. Don't drink coffee on an empty stomach."

"Just say what you came to say."

"I deleted that post. I've also told everyone you won't be a bridesmaid."

"Thanks."

My politeness seemed to unnerve him.

"Zara, let's stop fighting. After the wedding, I'll take Serena back to the hospital first. You don't have to move to Southford. I already contacted your manager—"

"You contacted my manager?"

"I just said you've been dealing with some family issues lately. Your transfer request might have been impulsive."

I stared at him for two seconds, pulled out my phone, and sent a confirmation email right in front of him.

"I confirm my acceptance of the transfer. I will report for duty in 7 days. If anyone claiming to be my family or fiancé attempts to change this decision on my behalf, please disregard it. Mr. Ethan Chase is now legally married to another person and has no relationship with me."

The email sent.

Ethan's face darkened completely. "You're really going to Southford?"

"I was still a little hesitant before. Not anymore."

"I was just worried you'd regret it."

"If anyone's going to make me regret something, it's you making decisions for me."

I stood up to leave. He slid a bank card onto the table.

"The honeymoon and wedding losses can come out of this. The password is your birthday."

"No need."

"Zara, don't mix money with feelings."

I almost laughed. When he was using my wedding to pay off an old debt, he told me not to be too calculative. Now that he was trying to buy his way out, he reminded me not to mix money and feelings.

No matter how you looked at it, he always had the moral high ground.

"Ethan, have you ever considered that I'm not leaving because of how much money I lost?"

"Then why? Because of a marriage certificate that's going to be voided anyway?"

I looked at him. Whatever desire I had left to explain was gone. "Yes. Exactly because of that piece of paper."

That afternoon, the wedding planner called me. Serena was insisting on using the original vows.

I had written those vows for Ethan.

I wrote about him helping me sort through my mother's belongings after she passed.

I wrote about him holding me at a bus stop at dawn when his first business failed.

I wrote about the year we were the poorest, when each of us only had half a plate of spaghetti, and he would still give me some of his already meager portion.

The last line was: Thank you for turning me from a "me" into an "us."

"You can't use it," I said.

The planner sighed. "Mr. Chase said they're about to submit the final run sheet. They're just swapping a few names. It won't affect your rights."

"It's not a template. It's my personal words. Please remove it."

That evening, Serena sent a message.

Serena: I know you hate me. But Ethan spent a whole week memorizing those vows. He said they were the best promise he'd ever heard. I just want to hear him say them one last time.

Zara: Tell him to write his own.

Serena: He can't.

Zara: Then he has nothing to say to you.

Serena was quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, she no longer bothered with the apologetic act. "Do you really think he loves your words, Zara? As long as it's me standing in front of him, whatever he says will be true."

I didn't get angry. I only asked, "Who said 3 months?"

"What?"

"You have 3 months left."

She paused.

"The doctor said the treatment isn't looking good. It might get worse soon."

"Did they specifically say 3 months?"

She didn't answer.

I pressed on. "Did Ethan promise to divorce you after 3 months?"

This time, she laughed. "Zara, what Ethan told me was this: as long as I'm alive, he won't let me be without a home again."

Before the message ended, I could still hear pages turning in the background. She seemed to want me to hear clearly as she read out the arrangements Ethan had made for her: moving into our apartment after the wedding; a trip to see the northern lights if her health allowed; her next birthday at the seaside where Ethan and I had gone every year; and if the treatment worked, converting the study next to the master bedroom into her art studio.

I had made that Iceland itinerary myself. The seaside membership was one I'd renewed for 5 years straight. The paint color in the study was the one I'd chosen for our future child.

After Serena finished reading, she asked softly, "Do you understand now? I didn't ask for any of this. He said it himself. He said you two have plenty of time."

I hung up and permanently deleted the honeymoon plan I'd spent 3 years revising over a dozen times.

Money could be refunded halfway. Routes could be redone. But the futures he had handed over to someone else—I didn't want a single one of them back.