When Love's Curtain Drops

The wedding was underway. My fiancée, Diane Anderson, stood at the altar, hand in hand with another man, taking vows.

The officiant asked her, "Do you take Keith Brady as your husband?"

Diane's voice was unwavering. "I do!"

Watching them so blissfully in love felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

The scene I had dreamed of for years—the one I longed to create—another man could conjure effortlessly.

Seven years. Seven times I had knelt before Diane, proposing, and seven times she had rejected me.

Through all my persistence, her response had always been a cold, dismissive laugh before changing the subject. My endless tolerance and patience only fueled her pride.

In her eyes, agreeing to marry me had been a favor already. Who was I to question her?

I loved her so deeply, so completely, that I had lost all sense of self. Even if she truly slept with Keith, I probably would have smiled and forgiven her, taking her back home.

But she had forgotten her own words. "Jerry, no matter how many times I reject you, in the end, I will only marry you. I will only ever wear a wedding dress for you."

On the large screen behind the stage, moments of her and Keith's sweetness played for everyone to see.

Clearly, even if this was the first time she had worn a wedding dress for him, it wouldn't be the first time she'd slept with him.

My mind went blank, a sudden clarity piercing through me.

She didn't not want to marry—she just didn't want to marry me.

I watched their ceremony conclude, my heart sinking as I prepared to leave.

Then Diane grabbed my arm.

"Jerry… Keith and I are just playing pretend. The wedding is only to fulfill one of his wishes."

For once, I didn't press her for more. Instead, I remained calm.

"Then carry on with the act. Next step—make a baby."

Her face darkened. Impatience crept into her voice.

"Jerry, I've been nothing but patient explaining all this to you. Why are you being so sarcastic? Look at yourself! You don't have an ounce of grace left. What kind of man are you, anyway?"

She turned the accusation back on me, then hurried to toast Keith.

In the past, I would have dropped to my knees to appease her anger. But now, watching their figures together, I felt only chill and emptiness.

Seven years. Seven years of pouring my heart and soul into her, waiting relentlessly for her to come back to me. And in the end, she only ever saw me as a lovesick fool.

Why should I let her continue to trample me?

…

The next day, the moment I arrived at the hospital, I received a notice of suspension.

There was no doubt—this was Diane working behind the scenes, trying to manipulate me once again.

The position of lead surgeon had been earned through my own hard work. To say it didn't sting would be a lie. Yet, there was nothing to do but obey the hospital's decision.

Colleagues cast sympathetic glances my way. I smiled. "I'm fine."

Suspension and dismissal were practically the same. But sooner or later, I had planned to leave anyway.

I had just finished the paperwork when Keith appeared before me.

So this was her game all along—pushing me aside just to give him a respectable position.