I Spent My Life Granting His Wishes

As I descended from the sacred mountain, the icy wind hit me at once.

I glanced down. My coat sleeves hung past my hands, my arms swallowed up inside them. Even my shoes were too big now, and I stumbled along like a child wearing clothes several sizes too big.

…

I braced myself against the wall and climbed onto a stool, barely managing to get our apartment door open.

My custom wedding dress, still in its garment bag, hung in the entryway. My fiance, Ethan Hayes, had hung it there himself just two weeks earlier.

Suddenly, my phone on the table buzzed.

A message from Ethan popped up. It read, "Ashley just woke up. The doctor said she can't handle any emotional stress right now. Don't make a scene. Just wait for me."

My gaze lingered on the words "don't make a scene", and a cold ache spread through my chest. I'd risked my life for this, but to him, it was nothing more than me making a fuss.

Just then, another message appeared. "She just pulled through, so I need to stay with her. We'll get married in three days."

Three days later, huh?

I stared at those words, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. I only had three days left as well.

A moment later, I pulled up our elegant cream-and-gold digital wedding invitation and deleted it.

I also deleted the dress-fitting reservation slip, along with the screenshot of the day we were supposed to get our marriage license.

My phone chimed again. This time, it was a 60-second voice message. Ashley Hall had sent it from Ethan's phone.

As soon as I hit play, her frail voice drifted through the living room.

"I'm sorry, Mirabel. I never meant to keep Ethan all to myself. He stayed by my bedside all night and didn't even take off his jacket. It hurt to see how exhausted he was. Once I'm feeling better, I'll make it up to you."

In the last few seconds of the voice message, I heard Ethan's low voice in the background. "Drink some water. Don't talk anymore. You'll only make your throat worse."

He spoke so softly, as though he were afraid of breaking something delicate.

I looked down at my tiny hands. They were barely big enough to hold my phone anymore. Then, the pain I'd barely managed to suppress surged through me all over again.

A beat later, I opened Ashley's profile and blocked her number along with every one of her social media accounts.

As soon as I was done, my phone rang, and Ethan's name flashed across the screen.

I answered the call.

He didn't ask whether the ritual had hurt. Instead, he asked, "Why did you block Ashley?"

"I'm going back to the mountains," I said. "It's off. We're not getting married."