For two days after we returned with the last of the wedding dresses, I did not hear from Andrew. I messaged him through text and on social media, but he did not respond. I called him, but he did not pick up the phone.
I started to worry. Had something happened to Andrew? Was he mad at me?
I couldn’t help thinking about how he acted on the drive to Eliza’s house. He had been so quiet, and even though he had said that it wasn’t about me, I had a feeling that I was partly responsible for it. I was probably just being paranoid, but I had to know that he was all right—that we were all right.
After work, I drove straight to Andrew’s mansion. A part of me told me that I should leave him alone, let him have some space, but the more dominant par
