Five-years-of-marriage-to-mr-bradfor

On the fifth anniversary of Rebecca Perry's marriage to Vance Bradford, his first love returned to the country. That night, she caught him in the bathroom, murmuring Catherine's name as he pleasured himself. That was why, for five years, he had never touched her. "Catherine is back; she's all alone. I'm just helping her as a friend." "I understand." "I promised her I'd accompany her to the island for her birthday. I'm just fulfilling it." "Okay." "This banquet requires a capable companion, and Catherine is more suitable than you." "Okay, go ahead." When she stopped getting angry, stopped shedding tears, and stopped making a fuss, he grew puzzled. "Rebecca, why aren't you angry?" Of course, she wasn't angry anymore—because she was preparing to leave. Weary of this stagnant marriage, she had secretly learned a foreign language, taken the proficiency exam, and applied to study abroad. The day her visa was approved, she presented him with the divorce agreement. Vance froze. "No joke. How are you gonna survive without me?" Rebecca turned away, bought a plane ticket, and flew to the European continent, vanishing without a trace. The next time he saw news of her was in a viral video. Dressed in a flowing red gown, she danced against a foreign sky, igniting the internet with her performance. He gritted his teeth. "Rebecca, no matter where you hide, I will find you and bring you back!"

It's our fifth wedding anniversary. I've booked a table at a riverside restaurant and set my pregnancy test report right in the center of the table. 9:00 pm comes and goes with no sign of my husband, Yosef Sinclair. Just as I reach for my phone, the cake delivery person texts to ask for my location. I send it over, then call Yosef. A ringtone chimes right behind me. I turn around and see Yosef walking in, looking sharp in his suit. I'm about to nag him for being late until I see him holding a cake box and answering his phone. "I'm working. I'll—" Before he finishes speaking, he visibly pauses, then asks in a low voice, "You ordered this? Meeting friends? Just don't stay out too late." He sets the cake down right on top of my test report and turns on his heel. All that I'm left with is the sight of his retreating figure. A moment later, his voice floats back in from outside. "Nobody. Come on. Let's just finish this last order, and I'll treat you to a nice dinner today!" I look out the window. Yosef is getting into a car with Clara Lawson, the bakery owner. She slips into the passenger seat like she's done it a thousand times. A minute later, my phone vibrates. I tap it open with my numb fingers. It's a new Instagram post from Clara, showing a pink rose bouquet with a sliver of a black suit in the background. The caption reads, "A guy who buys me flowers, works overtime with me, and takes me out for dinner? He's a keeper!" I like the post, put my phone down, and quietly tell the waiter to bring out the food. I've spent three months trying to snag a table at this place. No way am I letting good food go to waste. Besides, I'm leaving this city in three days and putting an end to this broken marriage.

The first time I found out that Jessica Blake was cheating on me was in our own bedroom. I was young and hot-headed, and I wanted a divorce on the spot. She cried and said she'd gotten drunk and mistaken the guy for me. She fell to her knees, begging me to forgive her. "If you divorce me, I'll jump from this window right now." That one line softened my heart for the next five years. During those years, she was gentle and caring, as if that night had never happened. Everyone could see it—Jessica loved me so much she was willing to die for me. But then came her mother's 60th birthday party. Out of nowhere, my mother-in-law, Linda, asked her, "Jess, where's my grandson? Why didn't he come?" I was confused. I thought she was just having a moment, so I smiled and said, "Mom, you forgot—Jess's due date is still two months away." Linda glanced at me calmly and murmured, "Oh… so you still don't know." My heart sank. I looked over at Jessica instinctively. She quietly put down her fork, as if she were talking about something as ordinary as the weather. "Actually, I have a son. He's five years old."

I've returned to the country on the night of New Year's Eve. At the welcoming party, my girlfriend, Sabrina Monroe, suddenly produces a diamond ring and goes down on one knee. "Although this proposal is delayed by three years, our love is never late. Will you marry me, Colin Lawrence?" All of our friends begin cheering on us. Everyone is practically waiting for me to nod and accept Sabrina's proposal with tears in my eyes. They've completely forgotten about the fact that I prepared a lavish marriage proposal for Sabrina on New Year's Eve three years ago. Back then, she had told me that she'd show up on time. But that night, I was the only one present in a fancy suit. I waited the whole night for Sabrina, and yet she never showed her face. All I received was a phone call. "Matthew has fallen ill. I'm too busy taking care of him, and I can't leave his side at all. Let's put a raincheck on the marriage, yeah?" So, I left the country on New Year and accepted the marriage alliance my family had arranged for me. This means I'm already married to someone else for three years.

On New Year's Eve, I returned home. At the welcome party, my boyfriend, Grayson Caldwell, suddenly appeared, holding a bouquet of red roses and a diamond ring, dropping to one knee. "Although this proposal comes a full three years late, our love will never be late," he said. "Alexa, marry me!" Friends cheered from the sidelines, all expecting me to nod through tears and say yes. But they had forgotten that three years ago, on New Year's Eve, he had promised to propose. That night, I dressed to the nines and waited until dawn—but he never showed up. Instead, there was only a cold phone call. "Tanya is sick. I'm busy taking care of her. You'll have to wait a little longer for the proposal." And so, on New Year's Day, I left the country alone, bound by a family-arranged marriage. I had already married someone else three years ago.

When Sylvia Reed postponed our wedding for the fifth time, I found a pregnancy test report in her bag and decided to force the issue. Then I saw a trending local post. A woman rolled up her sleeves, baking cookies. Beside her, a man bent down to tease a child. One look was enough. I recognized the scar on her wrist. It was in the exact same spot as the one Sylvia got years ago when she took a knife for me. The scarf draped over the man's shoulders was one I'd custom-made for Sylvia. Our initials were stitched into it. The sight burned. I thought about how Sylvia had been glued to her phone lately, and how I'd heard a baby crying through it. Ten minutes ago, she'd sent me a voice message. "Luke, something urgent came up at the company. I can't make it back to try on the suit with you. Maybe we should postpone the wedding again? Next year. We'll definitely do it next year." But I'd already waited seven years for this wedding. I took off my groom's suit and cut it to pieces. Then I wiped my eyes, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in seven years. "I'm short a bride for my wedding. Interested?"