Chapter 3 - A WEDDING DAY WITHOUT A GROOM
At five in the morning, I called my mother.
She answered on the first ring.
“Claire?”
“Mom.”
Her voice changed immediately.
“What happened?”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding.”
Silence.
Then very softly, “Why?”
“Evan has been sleeping with Brooke.”
Another silence.
“And she’s pregnant.”
My mother made a sound I had never heard from her before.
By six-thirty, I was at my parents’ house on Long Island.
My father wanted to call Evan.
I stopped him.
“No.”
“He needs to explain himself.”
“He explained enough.”
“Claire—”
“I will not have anyone beg a man to marry me.”
My father stared at me.
Then he turned away and pressed one fist against his mouth.
That nearly broke me more than anything else.
By seven, Evan’s mother, Linda, arrived crying.
Evan did not come.
“He’s at the hospital,” she said.
I looked at her.
“Brooke had cramps during the night. He took her to the emergency room.”
My mother closed her eyes.
My father walked out of the room.
I felt nothing.
That scared me.
Linda reached for my hand.
“I’m so ashamed.”
I gently withdrew mine.
“This isn’t yours to carry.”
“If the baby is his, he has responsibilities.”
“I agree.”
She seemed startled.
“I do,” I repeated. “He should take responsibility for his child.”
Hope flickered on her face.
I killed it immediately.
“But he won’t be doing it as my husband.”
By eight-thirty, cancellation messages were going out.
By nine, my phone had become unbearable.
Friends.
Employees.
Cousins.
A college roommate I had not spoken to in six years.
Everyone wanted to know what happened.
I turned off notifications.
At 9:12, Brooke sent another message.
Can we please meet?
I stared at it.
Then I typed:
10:00. My office.
When Brooke walked into Whitmore House forty-eight minutes later, she looked twenty years older than she had the previous week.
She wore a cream sweater and black pants. Her eyes were swollen.
I pointed to the chair.
“Sit.”
She did.
Then she started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“I need your building key.”
She blinked.
“Claire—”
“Your laptop password, vendor access list, client schedule, travel credentials, and the current status of every contract you manage.”
“Are you firing me?”
“I’m ending your employment through a formal separation. You’ll receive your unused PTO and severance. Our operations director will handle the paperwork.”
Her hand went instinctively to her abdomen.
“I’m pregnant.”
“I’m aware.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
It was the first moment I almost lost control.
I looked at the woman who had smiled at me while pinning my wedding dress.
Then I spoke carefully.
“I’m not withholding money from you. I’m not humiliating you in front of the staff. I’m not going to call other companies and destroy your career. But you cannot remain my personal assistant after sleeping with my fiancé.”
Tears slid down her face.
“I never meant to steal him.”
I laughed quietly.
“You still think this is about stealing a man.”
She looked confused.
“If Evan could be stolen, Brooke, then he was never something worth guarding.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I loved him.”
“So did I.”
That shut her up.
I pushed the handover checklist toward her.
“Finish this with operations.”
She stood.
At the door she turned.
“Do you hate me?”
I considered lying.
Instead, I said, “Today? A little.”
Her face crumpled.
“But I won’t build my life around hating you. That would give you far too much of it.”
She left.
Thirty-two minutes later, Evan called.
His first sentence was, “Brooke says you fired her.”
I closed my eyes.
Of all the things he could have called about on our wedding day, he called about her job.
“She no longer works for me.”
“She’s pregnant and terrified.”
At that exact hour, I was supposed to be stepping into my wedding dress.
Instead, I stood in my office staring at garment racks while my former fiancé defended the woman he had cheated with.
Something final died.
“You should help her, then.”
“Claire, don’t make this personal.”
I actually laughed.
“Don’t make this personal?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Evan. I don’t think you know what anything means anymore.”
“I’m just saying her livelihood shouldn’t be destroyed because of what happened between us.”
“What happened between us?”
He went silent.
“Today was our wedding day,” I said. “My parents are calling three hundred guests. My mother has a refrigerator full of food for relatives who flew in from Colorado and California. My father is sitting in his den because he doesn’t want me to see him cry. And you called me because Brooke is upset.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Goodbye, Evan.”
“Claire—”
I hung up.
That afternoon, I returned to my apartment.
I took down every photograph.
Packed the invitations.
Folded the bridal robe.
Called the boutique about preserving the dress until I decided what to do with it.
When the apartment was finally empty of white ribbons and calligraphy, I stood in the middle of my living room.
I was thirty-one years old.
My wedding had collapsed.
My fiancé had betrayed me.
My assistant had betrayed me.
And yet the sun still set over Manhattan exactly as it had the day before.
I was still breathing.
May you like
That felt almost insulting.
Then, strangely, it began to feel like a gift.
