Eighty-Eight Strikes and I'm Out

Another call—Cindy Vallance's classic "I'm-ending-it-all" routine. No shocker, Andrew Todd bailed on our wedding. Again.

I blocked his path, fists clenched around a gown that was supposed to mean something.

"Can't this wait till after? It's the eighty-eighth time."

My throat burned. He sighed, pulled me close.

"Just a little more time, Viv. She's been off since the accident. I'm scared she'll actually do it. I swear, I'll talk to her. For real this time. Then we'll get married. Promise."

That was the eighty-eighth time he said those exact words.

The first eighty-seven? I ate them up like gospel. Told myself love was enough, that delays didn't matter if he still chose me.

The wedding always crashed halfway through. Always pushed back.

We threw ceremony after ceremony, but never made it to "I do."

Cindy always pulled something—car crash, meltdown, suicide threats. Like clockwork.

And Andrew? He always ran to her, magically saving the day.

Wild, right? A girl on the edge—slitting wrists, downing pills, screaming about death—suddenly finds her will to live the second he shows up.

I didn't say a word. Just hugged him back like my life depended on it, hoping he'd stay.

Andrew kept whispering comfort, but Mom jumped in, rushing him.

"Vivian, stop being difficult. Cindy's on the balcony!"

Dad's face turned cold.

"If she hadn't gotten kidnapped trying to save you, she wouldn't be like this. You're selfish enough—now she's hanging on by a thread, and you still can't think past yourself?"

Andrew's phone buzzed. He slipped his hand from mine.

"I have to go, Viv. You get it, right?"

I didn't even get to answer. Took one shaky step, heel twisted—I hit the ground hard. My arm slammed into the metal flower stand, splitting wide open.

White-hot pain shot through me. I cried out.

Andrew didn't even flinch. Just ran. Never looked back.

As he disappeared through the door, I snapped.

"Andrew Todd! I'll wait here till the day ends. If you don't come back—we're done. For good."

He heard me. Paused for half a second. Still didn't turn around.

My parents blew past me. Dad sneered.

"Who are you performing for? Let me make this clear—forget canceling. If we told you to hand Andrew over to Cindy, you would. Her life matters more."

Mom gave me that tired look.

"Vivian, be reasonable. It's just a wedding. We can reschedule. But Cindy needs him now. You always clash, sure—but we don't have time for your drama today."

I'd been hearing that same crap since I finally came to my real parents.

Cindy had already been living with them for fifteen years when they found me.

I never asked them to kick her out. I actually treated her like a real sister.

But she always wanted what was mine—even stuff she didn't like. A teddy bear she'd trashed, a red dress she'd never wear.

If I wanted it, she had to take it. Every time.

I asked her once—why she kept doing it.

Her answer? Ice cold.

"No reason. I just love the look on your face when I take everything."

I was stupid back then. Thought if I told Mom and Dad, they'd finally see her for what she was. Maybe stop blaming me for everything.

But I didn't get it—how deep their love for her ran. Instead, they hit me with:

"Vivian, how did we end up with such a selfish, lying daughter? You're a real disappointment."

Fine. Be disappointed.

I was done. Too drained to cry. Just cold. Hollow.

I pushed myself off the floor, pressed tissues to the bleeding gash on my arm.

"Mom, Dad—you should probably go. Cindy's still at the balcony."