Nothing Left of Ten Years

I'd imagined countless ways things could end between Caitlyn Harp and me, but never this one.

So when she knelt at my feet in her wedding gown after finishing the ceremony with Scott Burdett, a suggestive hickey still visible on her collarbone, begging my forgiveness, I suddenly remembered that year.

The year she'd knelt on one knee to confess her feelings, stubbornly refusing to get up until I said yes.

For ten years, I spent three thousand six hundred and fifty days helping her find her way out of her autism. In the end, this was how she kicked me out of the game.

The door swung open. Scott walked in and knelt beside her.

He didn't say a word, but I understood the hint of triumph in his eyes.

"When did it start?" My voice was as light as if we were making small talk.

"Scott's fiancée ran out on the wedding. I was only standing in so he could get through the ceremony. The invitations had all gone out, and his parents had gone through so much trouble to come to Baird City. They couldn't have handled the shock..."

So my parents and I deserved to take the hit instead.

"Charles, we're best friends. Just help me out this one time... Nothing's going on between Caitlyn and me."

Scott tugged at the leg of my pants, his eyes red as he pleaded in a small voice. He played the underdog to perfection.

I didn't listen to any of it. Instead, I scrolled through his social media.

Scott: [Thank you, Cat, for keeping me company...] The picture showed two figures locked in an embrace as they bungee jumped together.

It was the same day I'd been in a car accident, when she claimed to be away on a business trip.

Further down was a photo of candles and red wine, along with two interlocked hands. Caitlyn couldn't even wait to take off my engagement ring first.

I kept scrolling. Post after post pieced together a Caitlyn I didn't recognize.

Iced lattes, trendy restaurants, chocolate desserts. Whenever I suggested any of them, all I ever got was a frown and "I don't like that." Yet behind my back, she'd tried every single one with Scott.

The woman who'd always been a germaphobe and guarded her hands like her life depended on them had even been willing to put on an apron and cook for him.

I stared at the four dishes and a soup in the photo. My face burned.

The year before last, I'd come down with such a bad cold that I couldn't get out of bed. When I asked her to make me some ginger tea, she said, "Charles, I'm a doctor. My hands don't go anywhere near a kitchen. Order delivery."

Over those ten years, I'd grown used to her obsession with her hands, and to her coldness and indifference.

So I resigned myself to ordering the ginger tea and curled up under the covers, listening to her on the phone in the study. Her voice was gentle, careful with every word.

At the time, I thought the fever had fried my brain. Looking back now, I'd just been stupid.

The shock had long since faded. All that remained was the hollow numbness of having the truth laid bare.

I held up those posts in front of Scott's face. "You said it yourself. We're best friends. Is this how you repay me?"

Before he could answer, I turned and stared at Caitlyn. "Since you two are together now, I'll step aside and let you two have each other."