Chapter 2

I went to the office to sort out my paperwork, then went home.

Three hours passed before anyone noticed I was gone.

It wasn't until past ten that night that Carl pushed the door open, carrying a paper bag.

"Where'd you go without saying a word?"

I shook my head. "Nowhere. Just tired."

He didn't press further. He handed me the bag. "This is for you."

The logo on the bag was from the dessert shop I loved.

Back when we were dating, every time he upset me, Carl would go to that shop and buy me a cake.

The place was so popular you had to wait in line for two hours, and he'd never once complained about it.

The memory warmed something in my chest, and I opened the bag without thinking twice.

Then I froze.

"What... is this?"

Instead of the cake I'd expected, the bag held a few dirty shirts smeared with frosting.

Carl looked a little awkward at my shocked expression.

"Lindsay got some cake on her clothes. You're the best at laundry, so just wash these for her while you're at it. Besides, that's what we voted on last time. Why are you looking at me like that?"

The last time we'd all gone out to eat, they'd started some tasteless game called Who's More Like the Help.

All three of them had voted for me.

Carl had patted my head that night. "My wife's the most capable. Cooking, laundry, she does it all."

Mark had laughed along. "Exactly. Blaire's always been the good girl. She's done chores since she was a kid. Might as well let her handle all our laundry from now on, too."

I'd thought it was just a joke. I never expected them to actually start treating me like a maid.

Carl took it for granted that I'd wash them, and pinched my cheek.

"I knew you weren't that petty. Get them nice and clean. Lindsay's a little particular about that kind of thing.

"Don't forget you're trying on your dress tomorrow. Get some sleep."

I stuffed the dirty clothes back into the bag and tossed it straight in the trash.

Just like those five years I wasted on him. A mess I should've let go of a long time ago.

Once something's dirty, you don't hang onto it. You let it go.

…

The next day, we'd all agreed to go try on wedding dresses together.

I was two minutes late because of work. The moment I walked in, Lindsay was already wearing the dress I'd reserved.

The salesclerk, Carl, and Mark all looked stunned by how good she looked in it.

Lindsay turned this way and that in the mirror, unsatisfied. "I don't like this style. It doesn't match the wedding theme. Let's try something else."

She heard the door and walked toward me, still in the dress.

"Sis, why don't we vote on it? I like that other one better."

Carl made a sound of agreement. "It does look better, honestly."

The dress she was pointing at was the mermaid-cut one I'd already vetoed outright.

It was supposed to be my wedding. My dress got worn by someone else, the style got changed on a whim, and by now it barely resembled what I'd chosen at all.

Years of pent-up resentment rose to my throat. "Can I not even decide on my own wedding dress?"

Only then did the clerk realize I was the actual bride, and her expression turned awkward.

Seeing Lindsay standing there looking embarrassed, Carl rushed to smooth things over.

"Blaire, don't be so petty. We said we'd vote on it, didn't we? It's not like we're ignoring your opinion completely."

Mark lost his patience too.

"Hasn't it always been like this? Once Lindsay's had her turn wearing it, it'll come back to you. What's so different about a wedding dress?

"The rehearsal's tomorrow. We don't have time for you to make a scene."

Seeing my sour expression, Lindsay dropped the dress and ran out, covering her face.

Both men chased after her without a second thought.

I watched the dress I'd wanted so badly get thrown to the floor and stepped on again and again.

My heart wouldn't stop shaking.

Even the clerk looked at me with pity.

"Ma'am, do you... still want this dress?"

I forced a smile, paid the cancellation fee and the damages, then called the wedding planner.

"Cancel the wedding. I'll cover whatever it costs."