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Chapter 6

Autor: City Scribe
At the mention of that name, a strange look flickered in Harrison’s eyes. He lowered his head and wrote in my medical record.

“The patient is now exhibiting symptoms such as delusions and hallucinations. Recommend involuntary admission if necessary.”

Then, he looked up at me again, his tone gentle.

“Miss Christine, if you want to remember Mr. Vincent, I suggest you revisit places where you used to spend time together. It may help reinforce your memory. Of course, the most important thing is that you cooperate with treatment.”

I clenched my hands tightly. Ever since my mother died of kidney failure in a hospital, I had developed a deep resistance to places like this. Being able to sit here and speak face-to-face with Dr. Harrison was already my limit.

I looked up, my smile dimming slightly.

“I understand, Dr. Harrison. Thank you.”

With that, I stood and left. I didn’t hear the nurses’ mocking voice behind me.

“Miss Christine sure is delusional. Mr. Vincent is the Godfather of the Medici family. He’s worth billions. In New York, anyone with status treats him with the utmost respect.”

“Isn’t he getting married to his fiancée in five days? And she’s saying he’s the love of her life? Does he even know who she is? Every Cinderella dreams of marrying into wealth, but not just anyone off the streets can be the Godfather’s woman.”

I walked out of the hospital and, in a daze, got onto the subway. At that moment, my phone vibrated. When I checked it, I saw that Elena had sent several photos in a row. They were wedding photos of her and Vincent, taken in Central Park. The wedding dress she wore was the same custom-made gown Vincent had taken me to try on eight years ago. It was adorned with 1,095 pearls and 1,095 sapphires.

Suddenly, I remembered what Vincent had said back then. “1,095 days—that’s how long we’ve been in love. A person only has a little over thirty thousand days in a lifetime, but Christine, I hope that you and I can love each other for more than three years.”

At that moment, Elena sent another message.

[Christine, I heard from the staff that Vincent personally designed this dress for you eight years ago. Today, I had a master tailor adjust it to my size. Doesn’t it fit perfectly? Eight years ago, you missed out on the best man in the world, but that’s okay. I’ll replace every memory you left with him, just like this dress.]

Every word felt like a sharp blade, stabbing straight into my heart. I zoomed in on the photo and stared at Vincent for a long time. He stood behind her, dressed in a tailored suit, a faint smile on his lips. Before I realized it, my eyes had turned red. It seemed I loved him so much that I was crying happy tears for him.

I didn’t go home that entire night. After staying on the Brooklyn Bridge for most of the night, I took the earliest subway to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where Vincent and Elena would be getting married in four days.

It was Sunday, and the cathedral was filled with people attending mass. I sat in the very last row, looking at the towering cross as I closed my eyes.

Softly, I made a wish. “Merciful Lord, if it’s possible, please let me remember Vincent a little longer. If not, then before I forget him completely, please let me see him a few more times.”

When I finished, I crossed my heart, just like the other devout believers. The choir’s voices echoed through the air, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of calm.

Then, a familiar voice rang out, laced with mockery. “Christine, you believe in God?”

My eyes snapped open. Vincent stood there, backlit by the light, looking down at me from above. In that moment, I suddenly felt that fate hadn’t treated me too badly.

When I didn’t respond, he spoke again. “Eight years ago, I came here alone many times. I imagined where the flowers should go and where the drapery should fall. I thought about you standing beneath the stained glass windows and how beautiful you’d look through a Leica camera. Back then, I really wanted to stand under the cross with you and say our vows. I wanted to promise you that, whether in poverty or wealth, in sickness or in health, I would love you, honor you, and be faithful to you for the rest of my life.”

An intense sadness instantly overcame me, but I could only force it all down and say softly, “I’m sorry.”

Vincent looked at me quietly. The coldness in his expression faded.

He said, “Since you came today, don’t come on the day of Elena’s and my wedding.”

I froze. By then, the congregation had begun to leave. Before long, the vast cathedral was left with just the two of us, staring at each other in silence. Amidst the silence, Vincent seemed to have found peace.

“Christine,” he said, “I loved you for three years, but it only took me three days to stop loving you.”
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  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 20

    On April 20th, Vincent went to the Queens Cemetery for the last time. He was wearing the same dark gray coat he had on during his first date with Christine. Eight years had passed, and the coat now looked worn, with the cuffs frayed. He didn’t know why he had never thrown it away. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he simply couldn’t bring himself to.He sat down in front of my gravestone and placed the white chrysanthemums carefully beside it.“The weather is nice today,” he said softly. “Better than yesterday and the day before. I sat in the cathedral for the whole afternoon and then went to the Mexican restaurant for dinner. The owner isn’t there anymore. It’s someone new now. The risotto isn’t as good as yours. I only took two bites before I stopped eating.”From his pocket, he took out a diary. The edges were worn from being turned too many times. He opened it to the first page.“Vincent Medici is the most important person in this world. No matter who I forget, I must never forget Vinc

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 19

    It was April, and spring had finally sprung in New York. In Queens Cemetery, the grass had begun to turn green again. A few unnamed wildflowers had grown beside my gravestone, as if they had decided to stay where I once was.Vincent came every afternoon. Sometimes, he brought a book; sometimes, he brought nothing at all, but he would sit by the gravestone for hours. John would sometimes follow him, standing far away at the cemetery gate. From there, he watched Vincent’s silhouette. The man who once made New York’s underworld tremble now spent his days sitting in front of a grave, quietly letting an afternoon pass him by. Sometimes, Vincent would speak to the gravestone. Other times, he just sat in silence, like two stones facing each other.One day, after returning from the cemetery, Vincent called John into the study.“John. Do something for me.”“Whatever you need.”“Sort out all my assets. Everything.”Taken aback, John asked, “Everything?”“Everything. Family shares, real es

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 18

    Today was March 11th, and it had been nearly three months since I jumped from the top of the Empire State Building. Vincent went alone to Rockefeller Center. The observatory telescope was still there. He dropped in a coin but didn’t look through it. Instead, he stood on the viewing platform outside for a long time.Today was the day we first looked at the stars together. Back then, I was twenty-four, working as a waitress in that Mexican restaurant, while he was twenty-five, heir to the Medici family. He made up the name of a star to fool me, yet I believed him with my bright smile. Every March 11th after that, I came here. No matter whether I remembered the way or even remembered the star’s position, I always came.Vincent took my diary out of his pocket and turned to the last page of the day I had come.“March 11th. Rockefeller Center. Today, I didn’t see the star. The clouds in New York were too thick, but it’s okay. I remember what Vincent said. That star is called Christine, an

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 17

    In mid-January, Vincent received an email from Mount Sinai Hospital. The sender was Dr. Harrison.“Mr. Vincent, while organizing Miss Christine’s records, I found a video she recorded last year. I had suggested she make it at the time to document the progression of her condition. She stored it in the hospital system and instructed me to deliver it to you after her passing. The video file is attached—Harrison.”The attachment was large. It took Vincent a full ten minutes to download. He sat in his study, the curtains drawn tightly shut. The computer screen was the only source of light in the room.The video began. I was sitting in Dr. Harrison’s office. I wore a gray sweater, my hair tied back, revealing a thin, almost fragile face. My gaze was slightly unfocused, but I was trying my best to look into the camera.“Today is… wait. Let me ask. Dr. Harrison, what’s the date today?”Off camera, Dr. Harrison said, “March 11th.”“March 11th,” I repeated and suddenly smiled. “Today is Ma

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 16

    On December 25, Christmas Day, New York had its first snowfall of the winter. Vincent went alone to the Queens Cemetery. A thin layer of snow had settled on my gravestone. He gently brushed it away and placed a bouquet of white chrysanthemums in front of it.On the stone was engraved that same sentence, “Vincent Medici is the most important person in this world.”He crouched down and traced the carved letters with his fingers.“It’s Christmas today,” he said softly. “You used to love Christmas. Every year, you’d hang lights all over the apartment. I used to say, what’s the point of decorating a two-hundred-square-foot place like that, but you said the bigger, the better. It was so that when I came back, I could see it from far away. Then, I came back, but your lights weren’t on anymore.”The snow grew heavier, falling on his hair and shoulders. He didn’t have an umbrella. He just stayed there, crouched in front of the grave.After a long while, footsteps came from behind him. John

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 15

    After Elena left, Vincent stayed in the Mexican restaurant for a long time. The owner eventually came over and asked if he wanted anything else. Vincent simply shook his head, left a few bills on the table, and stood up to leave.Outside, New York’s night wind hit him along with flashes of neon light. The streets were crowded, but no one paid attention to the man in the black shirt walking through them. He walked slowly, almost aimlessly, until he found himself at the Brooklyn Bridge. Cars streamed across it nonstop, their headlights shining. On the pedestrian walkway, joggers passed by, and couples stopped occasionally to take photos.Vincent walked to the middle of the bridge, the exact spot where I had once crouched down. He crouched there now, resting his hands on his knees, just like I had done that day. From that angle, the Brooklyn skyline flickered in and out of the night. I had written about this place in my diary.“Today I crouched down on the Brooklyn Bridge for a long ti

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