18 Delays Later: Too Late for Tears
I was just picking up my spoon when he told me our marriage registration would be delayed again.
"Let's do it next time," Ethan said as he put down his cutlery. His tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the pleasant weather.
I took a sip of my food, chewed slowly, and swallowed.
"Okay."
He glanced at me, picked up his fork, and then looked at me again. "You're not angry?"
I continued eating, my voice entirely flat. "No, I'm not."
Our wedding ceremony had been held six months ago, but this was the seventeenth time he had postponed getting our marriage certificate.
He was used to doing this.
And I was used to accepting it.
I finished my meal bite by bite. He didn't touch his food again.
When I stood up to clear the table, he caught my wrist.
"Summer, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week," Ethan promised. "We already had our wedding anyway, a few days won't make a difference. Don't worry, I won't break my promise this time."
I looked down at his hand, then looked up at him with a faint smile. "Okay."
Over the past six months, he had said "next week" nine times, "definitely" thirteen times, and "don't worry" sixteen times.
Yet, we still hadn't registered our marriage.
And next week, it wouldn't happen either.
Because this time, I would be the one breaking the promise.