The Bride Is Not Me
Zachary Lawson brought his pregnant secretary to my bridal store for a fitting. They had chosen a white gown. His friends were in the VIP lounge, betting on how long I'd last before I'd lose it.
I lasted until the very end, where his secretary had tried out the final gown. I was still there, taking her measurement down to the precise decimal.
"I can't believe your wife took your mistress' measurements. Her patience is impressive!"
Zachary had sunk into the couch's soft caress, flicking his cigarette. "She's a barren woman who lives on my money. She'll have to get used to the part. I don't need a stepmother to manhandle my son."
I pulled the tailor's tape back and showed them the bill. "The measurements are perfect. Two million. That's the deposit."
Zachary tossed an asset split agreement over to me. "Sign this. Wendy's mood swings are horrible during pregnancy. She's not staying put unless she gets to be my wife. I'll need you to get a divorce and not take a single cent. Once the baby's here, I'll take you back into the fold."
I signed the papers without even a moment's pause. Then, I tore the check into tiny little pieces.