Wherever You Go, I Won't

Vivian Tatum dissolved into a fit of hysterical sobbing, her tears smudging the oversized black-and-white portrait of a young boy she held against her chest.

She was practically turning our wedding into a funeral, and the newly arrived guests were unsure of how to react to the spectacle.

"Is this part of the reception entertainment?" someone whispered.

"Are you new here? She has done this plenty of times before. The second the vows start, she takes over the microphone. It's as if the wedding were some kind of primetime reality show for missing persons."

"I feel terrible for the bride. Who could endure having the most important day of their life ruined 17 times?"

"She probably has skeletons in her closet. The groom must have some serious dirt on her."

Charlie Shaw swept a cold, piercing glare over the crowd, instantly silencing the whispers.

He signaled his security guards to clear the room, leaving the venue empty except for the press and Vivian.

Then, he walked over and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

"Elena, you did wonderfully earlier. I was worried you would be angry, but it looks like I fretted over nothing."

I subtly turned my head away to avoid his kiss. "I'm not mad. But now that the performance is over, can I go home?"

"What performance?" His brows furrowed. "This is our wedding. I know you're upset because I didn't give you a heads-up, but three major network executives showed up today. This is a massive opportunity to get Vivian's brother on the national news.

"My cousin went missing when I was a kid. I know the agony of losing a family member, so I have to help her. If you leave now, it'll break Vivian's heart. We need to stand here and show her that we care."

But he was the one who cared about Vivian, not me.

A wave of dizziness from low blood sugar washed over me, making my body sway.

It was only after the reporters finally left that Vivian ran over, her eyes red and swollen.

"I'm so sorry, Elena," she apologized. "Please don't take it out on Mr. Shaw. I was the one who shamelessly begged him to let me do this."

Charlie wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Elena's a saint. She'd never get angry over something like this."

It wasn't that I lacked a temper.

In the beginning, Vivian had hijacked the press conference for the launch of my new product line to broadcast her search, and I had stayed silent.

Later, I spent weeks pulling every string I had to get her a slot on a dedicated missing-persons television show, but she flatly refused to go.

Instead, she fixated on my wedding day over and over again.

Whenever I tried to express my frustration, Charlie always dismissed it without a second thought.

"Vivian has debilitating social anxiety," he would say. "She'd freeze up on a real TV set."

Freeze up?

Yet, she seemed entirely unfazed, even after crashing my wedding ceremony 17 times in a row.

"Charlie," I said, quietly cutting him off. "I'm exhausted."

He offered a brief hum of acknowledgment.

"You've been up since 4:00 am doing your makeup and dealing with all this chaos. It makes sense that you're tired. I told you not to be so strict on yourself with the diet. Now, even your lips are completely pale. Let's head back."

So he had noticed.

I had spent three grueling weeks starving myself for this wedding, waking up before dawn just to make sure I looked flawless for the cameras.

And what did he do?

During our first look earlier, Charlie carried me to the car and slipped on my heels with the utmost reverence.

He did everything he could to assure me that the ceremony would go off without a hitch. He even invited the city's most prestigious media outlets and stationed security guards throughout the entire hotel.

To keep Vivian out of the way, he even sent her on a business trip three days ago. In fact, the screenshot of her flight itinerary was still saved on my phone.

Yet, he still lied to me, as he had been from the very start.

The moment we stepped through the front door, I realized the skin on my heels had fused to the lining of my heels. Pulling them off left my feet covered in blood.

"Elena, don't you feel pain?" Charlie asked, his voice laced with gentle reproach as he cradled my ankle and applied a Band-Aid to the wound.

"I do. But when you endure it long enough, the pain eventually numbs."

He froze, a strange, unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes. "If the heels didn't fit, why didn't you say anything? Do you really care about this ceremony that much?"

"Of course I do."

I closed my eyes, letting the memories replay in my mind.

Mom had tried to walk down the aisle three times in her life. Each time, she chose the wrong man, and each time, she ended up abandoned at the altar.

The first was Dad, who ran off with the maid of honor, leaving Mom to become the laughingstock of our small town.

The second time, her fiance defrauded her of her money, and the only person who showed up at the church was a police officer.

The third time, halfway through the vows, the groom suffered a massive heart attack and dropped dead on the spot.

After that, the neighbors whispered that she was a black widow.

Later, Mom developed a heart condition and passed away when I was 15. On her deathbed, she had left me with only one piece of advice.

"Elena, you must keep your eyes wide open. Find a good man who treats you right. Don't end up like me."

After meeting Charlie, I genuinely believed that I would finally get my fairytale ending.

Even when the previous ceremonies were disrupted, I convinced myself time and again that we would eventually finish our vows.

But I was wrong.

He hadn't cheated on me, he hadn't stolen my money, and he hadn't died. He simply took my wedding and turned it into a search party for Vivian.

"Charlie, I'm 32 this year. I can't keep going through this."

Over the course of three years, we had gone through the same theatrics 17 times.

He made me wait from the age of 29 to 32, turning me into the subject of everyone's jokes for three long years.

"Weddings are always a hassle," Charlie said, loosening his tie as he missed my point entirely. "If it weren't for your obsession with romantic gestures, I would've preferred to just sign the papers at city hall and call it a day.

"A wedding is just a formality anyway. I had a planner look at the dates. Next Thursday is still open. This time, we'll absolutely finish the ceremony."

I remained silent for nearly a minute. "Charlie, the truth is—"

But before I could finish speaking, his phone rang.

"Vivian? You've been crying all day, and your blood sugar crashed? Stay right there. I'm coming to get you!"

Without even pausing to change out of his clothes, he bolted out the front door.

The truth was, I wanted to tell him that earlier that day, my childhood best friend had also proposed to me.

But the exhaustion from my plummeting blood sugar finally overwhelmed me. My vision blurred as I collapsed weakly onto the bed, and my phone lit up.

The message my friend sent hours ago was still sitting in the chat.

"Elena, if you're ever ready to turn back, I'll be here to marry you."

Hanging onto the very last shred of my consciousness, I typed out a reply.

"Okay."