Dear Husband, I Want this Marriage no More

Disclaimer:

Medical situations and procedures depicted in this book are fictionalized for storytelling purposes and should not be considered medical advice.

Note: Anna is a brat, a very spoiled one, so she will talk and act like one. However, this is not to justify her. Also, the third chapter is a day in the life of Davy and not necessarily a continuation of chapter two. You may choose to ignore it and continue to chapter three, but I will advise you to read it to better understand him.

Happy reading.

***

I stood inside the luxury wedding shop, my heels tapping against tiles. Anything to avoid staring at my wristwatch for the umpteenth time because then I was going to get mad, and getting angry today was not an option.

Davy was fashionably late, as usual, a habit that had worsened over time, but this was important. He was supposed to be beside me as I searched for my dream dress, yet he was nowhere to be found.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, let the cool air from the vent settle in my lungs, and the unmistakable smell of wealth soon calmed me down.

My eyes wandered about the white-painted walls, housing rows and rows of dream dresses that I could envision on me, and the soft hue of the chandelier shining down on them just made it perfect.

My gaze settled on a sleeveless mermaid dress with lace patterns that would swirl delicately around me, and a little smile was pulling on my lips, intrigued.

For a moment, it reminded me of why I was getting married to him, the love of my life. We were college sweethearts that somehow found their way back to each other every time until we couldn’t take it any longer, and we decided to get married on a whim.

“Ma’am, are you ready?” The receptionist rudely barred my thought, and I blew out a harsh breath, lowering my gaze to meet her.

She stared at me as though I were beneath her, despite me towering over her by at least 3 inches. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, wrinkles creasing her forehead, and with her bun pulled too tight, I imagined she popped Advil after every close of the day.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head because they never get it.

“I have mentioned, twice now, that I am waiting for my fiancé,” I said in a flat tone, repeating the same excuse I had given the last two times. “He should be here any moment.”

However, her face remained stoic, etched in between sympathy and mild disgust, and I imagined she had seen this scenario play out too many times.

Fiancés abandoning their bride-to-be in a wedding shop.

But that could never happen to me. Of course not.

Davy and I have been together for seven years, seven of the best years of my life, and I would be damned if he left me in a fucking bridal boutique.

“Alright, my apologies,” she said, dipping her head slightly and the gesture drew a small smile from me. At least she knew when she was wrong. “Please have a seat, and you may call on us when you are ready.”

My skin prickled, annoyance flaring up, especially when she kept staring at me with pity. My fingers itched to pluck those eyes out, and maybe that patronizing voice she has going on.

Ughhh!

I shouldn’t have bothered coming here. But I had asked Kim for help finding a good shop, and she could be very persuasive, insisting this was the best bridal boutique in the city.

“Just let me be.” I snapped. “I will sit when I want to and call you when I am ready. Now shoo.”

The sales assistant gave me a look; she was good at those, and right now she stared at me like those infamous bridezillas on the TV, but I was at my wit's end, and surely this can be excused.

I reached into my Cleopatra purse by Lana Marks, a gift from Mom for my twenty-third birthday and still my favorite and pulled out my phone.

I tapped the green call icon, going to contacts, my eyes lighting up at the familiar name ‘Hot medical student who spilled wine on me,’ and it always took me back to the first time we met.

But this wasn’t the ideal time for a trip down memory lane. My smile instantly disappeared as I stared at the right-hand corner of the phone and noticed the so-called medical student, well, now a gynecologist, was already thirty-five minutes late.

Against my better judgment, I pressed the call button and waited. But I got no response either the first or second time; it went straight to voicemail, and I would be damned if I called him a third time.

My jaw clenched, ignoring the damage it might do to my teeth even as my Saint Laurent slingback tapped erratically against the white tiles.

I had mentioned this to him and even circled the date in the calendar on the nightstand, but of course he was too busy to spare time for me.

Finally fed up, I lowered myself onto the nearby sofa only to spot another sales assistant approaching.

And that was it.

“Could you stop staring at me like I’m about to steal something?” I snapped. “I could buy this entire boutique if I wanted to. My fiancé is a well-respected doctor, and he’s busy saving lives, our lives, so you had better shut it and be grateful.”

Her gasp echoed through the room as she clutched her chest dramatically. However, I was already dialing another number, ‘Bitchy birth giver of my love,’ and I waited as it rang.

“You know better than to call at this time, Anna.” Her sickly annoying voice interrupted my thoughts. “I was praying the rosary.”

“You know what?” I cut her off rudely, unable to hear her yapping about how devoted she was. “You win.”

“Anna—”

“I will go with your stylist so arrange a meeting for us.”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone, child. I have been—“

I ended the call abruptly, unwilling to bear the torture of hearing her voice, and I couldn’t deny the feeling of satisfaction that curled in my spine.

It was a poor move considering she was to be my in-law, but it is a compromise now; the least she could do was bear my wrath.

I marched out of the waiting area, beelining straight to the desk where the assistants sat. I dug deep into my purse, feeling the crisp note I had there, and I fished out some, placing it on the table.

“Thank you.” It was the least I could do for them for putting up with my character. Their eyes widened as they stared at me, lips trembling as they assessed the amount.

“Than—“ I waved them off before they could complete their sentence, strutting out of the boutique.

I pulled out my sunglasses, sitting them perfectly on the bridge of my nose, and I strutted to my car, ready to face the man who might not get to call me his wife.