Chapter 3

It wasn’t until the afternoon that Dorothy finally texted me an explanation:

“Mason’s sick, and we have a show coming up. I can’t just leave him hanging.”

It was a sloppy lie. Just a few hours earlier, I’d seen Mason’s Instagram story: “Helping a friend escape her controlling boyfriend,” accompanied by a picture of two hands making peace signs.

“Just reschedule the photoshoot,” Dorothy added. “We’ll redo it later.”

No. There’s no need to reschedule. There’s no need for a wedding at all.

But I still replied politely:

“Got it. Take care and focus on rehearsals.”

I could see the “typing” indicator linger for a long time, as if she hadn’t expected me to be so calm. Finally, she sent a short response:

“You too.”

For the next few days, Dorothy didn’t contact me. Instead, her social media updates became more frequent—a steady stream of posts about rehearsals, low-calorie meals to stay in shape, and other curated snippets of her life. It felt deliberate, as if she wanted to make sure I saw everything.

I obliged, liking every single post.

Meanwhile, I stayed busy. I sorted through years of accumulated belongings, donating anything unnecessary.

In the greenhouse, the roses I’d cultivated were in full bloom. I cut every last one, bundling them into two bouquets. Then, I headed to my advisor’s office.

“Professor, thank you for everything these past few years. Please, take these.”

My professor looked surprised.

“I remember when you first planted these roses,” he said. “You told me you’d save them for someone important.”

A sharp pang hit my chest, but I forced a smile.

“Well, you are important to me.”

We both knew it was a lie, but neither of us said anything more. My professor looked down at the vibrant roses.

“They’re stunning. My wife will love them.”

After saying goodbye, I went to the orphanage where I’d grown up and gave the other bouquet to the director. The children were playing outside, their laughter filling the air.

As we sat in the garden, I told the director that I’d be heading out west soon to grow roses. She didn’t get a chance to respond before the kids swarmed her, reaching for the flowers.

“They’re so pretty!”

“Wow, these are amazing!”

She smiled and began handing out the roses, one by one.

A brave little boy looked up at me and asked, “Can you really grow roses in the desert?”

I grinned mischievously.

“Of course I can. Just wait and see.”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!”

When I left the orphanage, my phone was flooded with missed calls. I finally answered one, only to be met with an angry tirade:

“Brian, you’re still Dorothy’s fiancé! It’s her 100th show, and you couldn’t even bother to show up? And don’t even get me started on your stupid roses—you couldn’t spare even one for her?!”

“Marrying someone like you is the worst thing that could ever happen to her!”

The same people who mocked me for giving Dorothy roses were now upset that I didn’t. I held the phone away from my ear, letting them rant until they ran out of steam.

“I forgot,” I said flatly. “I’ll Venmo you some money. Buy whatever you want.”

I opened the app, found their profile, and sent over a generous amount. Without waiting for a response, I hung up.

They were probably already celebrating, even though tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding.

As I finished packing my bags, ready to leave, Dorothy stormed through the door.

Her face was cold and unreadable as she shoved past me, heading straight for the bedroom.

I knew this routine. She wanted to start a silent war. In the past, I’d always been the one to break first, finding ways to win her back. And she’d always used that to her advantage—secure in the knowledge that I cared too much to let her go.

But now? I was exhausted.

The taxi was already waiting downstairs.

As I walked out with my suitcase, I spotted Mason leaning casually against a car. He gave me a smug smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of your bride tonight. I’ll return her to you tomorrow.”

His words dripped with mockery, but I didn’t care anymore. I gave him a glance before getting into the taxi.

As the car pulled away, I sent Dorothy one last text:

“Congratulations on your wedding.”

Congratulations to you and Mason.