“Honey, I’m so sorry I worried you. I just… I got overwhelmed. The thought of marrying you, it felt… unreal. Like a dream. I needed to clear my head. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Will you forgive me?” Lies. “We’re getting married in twenty days. I’ll be home with you every step of the way, making sure you’re the most beautiful bride ever. Okay?” But Aaron, there is no “we” anymore. He wiped the tears from my cheeks. Those soulful brown eyes, when he looked at you like that, it was easy to believe he was sincere. “I’m going to step out for a smoke. We’ll leave when I get back.” Aaron must have felt completely secure with me. Or maybe he wasn’t worried I’d suspect anything. After all, he was just following his friend’s script, playing the doting fiancé. So I picked up his phone, which had been buzzing with notifications. The passcode was my birthday. I’d always known it, but I’d never snooped before. I opened it. A girl named “Peach Blossom” had sent a flurry of messages. They’d connected yesterday. “Aaron, you got back so late! Get some rest!” “I heard
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you’re getting married! Can I have an invitation? I want to share in your happiness!” “I saw you
holding your stomach when you got off the
plane. Are you feeling okay?” “I made you some
homemade chicken soup! Tell me it’s good!” He
hadn’t replied to any of them, except the last
one. He’d written back: “Deliver it to this
address.” I glanced at the pink thermos on the
bedside table and felt another wave of nausea. Peach Blossom continued to message him: “Are
you sick? Is it serious? Can I come stay with you at the hospital?” “I can make you more soup when you’re done with that one.” “Take care of yourself, Aaron!” “I sat in the waiting room all night. My legs are numb, and my period cramps are killing me.” I closed the phone, marking the messages as unread. Then I opened my wedding planner and wrote: “19 days to go. Aaron and I went dress shopping today. Such a shame, none of them fit. I guess I’ve lost too much weight looking for him. But it’s okay. Just thinking about becoming his wife makes me so happy. He feels the same way,
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right?” I flipped back through the planner, filling in the gaps from the past few days. “30 days to
- go. Aaron is missing. I can’t find him. I keep
watching the video of our wedding venue, crying all night. My eyes are swollen.”
“20
days to go. Aaron is back. I’m so pathetic. Did I push him too hard? Did I scare him with my pre–wedding jitters? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so clingy. I just love him so much.” … This planner would be my parting gift to him. A gift that would cut deeper than any knife.
