Chapter 3

I went to the hospital alone to have the wound cleaned and stitched.

By 2:50 pm, Charlie still hadn't shown up. Instead, I happened to catch Vivian's brand-new Instagram post. For once, she hadn't blocked me from viewing it.

"You looked so cool forcing that city bus to pull over for me, even if it turned out to be another false alarm."

In the photo, she was leaning against Charlie's arm, flashing a sweet, radiant smile.

The bench in the hospital corridor felt cold and stiff.

I lightly massaged my numbing legs, but a sudden, sharp movement tore at the stitches in my arm, and the pain shot through me.

He wasn't coming.

Just as I resolved to push myself up and walk away, I collided headfirst into a warm, broad chest.

Charlie looked down at me, his shirt drenched in sweat and his face a mask of confusion. "Where are you going?"

I stared blankly at him, my breath hitching.

"Did they fix your arm?" he asked.

"Yeah."

My eyes drifted to the clock hanging on the wall. It read 3:08 pm.

"You're eight minutes late," I said.

"It's only eight minutes, Elena."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit.

Alas, my deadline for telling him the truth was 3:00 pm.

His sudden tug pulled at the stitches, forcing me to rip my hand back as a flash of pain shot up my arm. Blood seeped through the gauze, staining it crimson.

"Let's move," he said, frowning as he recaptured my wrist. "Vivian twisted her ankle while she was chasing down that bus. I need to drop you off at the house first so I can rush back over to help her ice it."

Those words felt like a bucket of ice water pouring down my head.

When Charlie was 22, a tiny scratch on my hand would make him lose sleep all night out of sheer worry.

Now, at 32 years old, he was carelessly tearing open my stitches just to hurry back to accompany another woman.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, and I pulled my hand out of his grip.

"Charlie, let's just call it quits."

Confusion and shock flooded his eyes.

The next second, he frantically pulled a phone out of his pocket that was still in the middle of an active call.

"Vivian, don't cry…" he coaxed, his tone frantic. "No, it's not your fault. She's just joking."

Only then did I realize that he was on a call with Vivian.

"Vivian heard everything you said earlier," he said.

My voice sounded raspy as I asked, "Why are you on the phone with her while you're with me?"

"Because she was worried about me!" Disappointment hardened his eyes. "Do you have any idea how fast I drove to get here? I almost crashed the car! Your little break-up joke absolutely terrified her. Even with a messed-up ankle, she's insisting on dragging herself over here to apologize to you!"

"What if I'm not joking?" I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm sick of you disappearing to look for her brother every time I need you.

"I'm sick of sacrificing the milestones of my life for her sake, and I'm sick of playing the clown for everyone else's amusement. If she never finds her brother, are we just supposed to never get married—"

His palm struck my cheek with a loud smack.

The force wasn't devastating, but it instantly silenced the entire hallway.

Charlie froze, raising a hand to touch my face before curling his fingers into a tight fist. "Do you have any idea how bad you make Vivian feel when you say things like that?"

My fingernails dug deep into my palms.

Without a moment's hesitation, I raised my hand and slapped him right back across the face.

"What about how I felt when the two of you ruined my dream wedding 17 times? Do you know what it feels like to have my friends and coworkers mock me for being spineless? To have them think I must have a skeleton in my closet just because I put up with this garbage?

"Are you actually trying to help her find her brother, or do you just love the high of having her depend on you?" I screamed, my voice cracking as passersby turned to stare and whisper.

Charlie stared at me in silence, one hand cradling his reddening cheek.

A thoughtful look flickered in his eyes before he chose to address only my second point.

"You need a new circle of friends and a new job," he replied flatly. "People who lack empathy aren't worth keeping around."

Empathy?

I waited from age 22 to 32 without ever getting a proper wedding. If anyone deserved empathy, it was me.

…

Neither of us spoke a single word when we arrived home.

Charlie dragged a blanket out to the living room couch. Meanwhile, I lay in the bedroom and stared at the ceiling, my breathing so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.

Recalling the scene at the hospital, I laughed at my own reaction.

I had already decided to leave him, so why did I even waste my breath on that speech?

My laughter gradually dissolved into tears.

The front door opened and closed throughout the evening. Every now and then, I could hear Charlie comforting Vivian over the phone.

Other times, I caught him sighing heavily.

After a long while, he finally walked into the bedroom and wiped the tears from my face.

"I'm sorry, Elena. I shouldn't have lost my temper and hit you. I talked to Vivian, and everything is cleared up now. I didn't realize that the gossip was getting to you so badly.

"I already had a team of people scrub the nasty comments about you online, and I personally called your coworkers and friends to smooth things over. You don't have to worry about a thing for the wedding in several days."