Chapter 2: Walking Away for Good

The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the bridal room long after I had stopped pulling at the dress.

White lace, satin, and pearls covered the floor like pieces of a life I could no longer recognize.

Five years.

Fifty-two canceled weddings.

One woman who had finally run out of hope.

I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror.

Without the wedding dress, I looked strangely unfamiliar.

Not like a bride.

Not even like someone's fiancée.

Just... me.

My mother quietly stepped inside.

She froze when she saw the ruined dress.

"Emily..."

I turned toward her.

"I'm done, Mom."

She didn't ask what I meant.

She already knew.

Slowly, tears filled her eyes.

"I wondered how much longer you'd keep forgiving him."

"Apparently, fifty-two weddings was my limit."

She walked over and hugged me tightly.

For the first time that day, I allowed myself to cry.

Not because Owen had left.

Because I finally accepted that he always would.

"Come home," she whispered.

"You don't have to fight for someone who keeps walking away."

I nodded silently.

Outside, the remaining guests were leaving.

Some offered sympathetic smiles.

Others avoided looking at me entirely.

Embarrassment had become a familiar companion over the past five years.

Every canceled wedding became another story people whispered about.

"Poor Emily."

"I can't believe he did it again."

"Why doesn't she just leave him?"

I used to hate those whispers.

Now I realized they had been asking the same question I should have asked myself years ago.

Why didn't I leave?

Back at the apartment Owen and I shared, silence greeted me.

His shoes were by the door.

His law books filled the shelves.

Our engagement photos smiled down from the walls.

They suddenly felt like photographs of strangers.

I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet.

Half of it belonged to me.

Half belonged to him.

For several minutes, I simply stared.

Then I grabbed an empty suitcase.

Not to pack my things.

To pack his memories.

The first thing I picked up was a framed photograph from our first anniversary.

We looked impossibly happy.

Owen's arm rested around my shoulders while we smiled at the camera during a weekend trip.

"You're my future," he had said that day.

"Nothing will ever change that."

I carefully removed the photograph from its frame.

Then tore it in half.

Next came the movie tickets from our first date.

A dried flower he had once tucked behind my ear.

The handwritten notes he used to leave inside my lunch.

Each memory went into a cardboard box.

Not because I wanted to keep them.

Because I couldn't bear to throw them away just yet.

Around sunset, my phone vibrated.

Owen.

I watched it ring until it stopped.

A second later, another message appeared.

"Vanessa's ankle isn't broken.

Doctor says she'll be fine.

I'm bringing you your favorite strawberry cake now."

I stared at the message without emotion.

He still didn't remember.

Another notification arrived.

"Don't be mad.

We'll choose another wedding date tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

As though today had never happened.

As though canceling another wedding was completely normal.

As though my heart had an endless supply of forgiveness.

I switched off my phone.

An hour later, I heard the apartment door unlock.

"Emily?"

Owen's voice echoed through the hallway.

"I'm home."

He entered carrying a pink bakery box.

"Look what I bought."

"Fresh strawberry shortcake."

"Your favorite."

I slowly walked into the living room.

He smiled when he saw me.

"Feeling better?"

I looked at the cake.

Then at him.

"Owen..."

"Hmm?"

"What's my favorite food?"

He blinked.

"Strawberry cake."

"Anything else?"

"You like coffee."

"Black coffee?"

I shook my head.

"No."

"You take cream and caramel syrup," I answered quietly.

"You've watched me order it for five years."

His smile faded slightly.

"Right... I just forgot."

"Did you?"

"Or did you never really pay attention?"

He frowned.

"What's gotten into you?"

"It's only cake."

"Exactly."

"It's only cake."

"But somehow it's another reminder that you don't know me anymore."

He sighed impatiently.

"Emily, today has been exhausting."

"Can we not fight?"

"Vanessa was in pain."

"She needed me."

"And I didn't?"

The room became quiet.

"That's different."

"How?"

"You always understand."

I laughed softly.

"That's your favorite sentence."

"Emily understands."

"Emily can wait."

"Emily will forgive me."

"Emily doesn't need to come first because she'll never leave."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

I walked into the bedroom and returned carrying a small velvet box.

He smiled hopefully.

"Are we finally talking about another wedding?"

I opened the box.

Inside rested my engagement ring.

I placed it gently on the coffee table.

"No."

"We're talking about goodbye."

His face turned pale.

"What?"

"I'm ending our engagement."

"Emily, don't joke like that."

"Does this look like a joke?"

He stared at the ring.

Then back at me.

"You're overreacting."

"Overreacting?"

"You canceled our wedding fifty-two times."

"Because of emergencies!"

"Because of Vanessa."

"Work is unpredictable."

"Love shouldn't be."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"You're being emotional because you're sick."

"Get some sleep.

Tomorrow you'll calm down."

"No, Owen."

"Tomorrow I'll move out."

For the first time since I'd met him, genuine panic crossed his face.

"Emily... stop."

"We've been together five years."

"Exactly."

"And I spent every single one of those years waiting for you to choose me."

"You always were my choice."

"Really?"

"Name one wedding where you stayed."

Silence.

"Name one time Vanessa called and you didn't leave me behind."

More silence.

"Name one promise you actually kept."

He couldn't.

Because there wasn't one.

"I love you," he whispered.

Tears filled my eyes.

"I know you think you do."

"But love isn't something you say after walking away."

"It's something you prove before you leave."

I picked up my suitcase.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Our home."

"No."

I looked around the apartment one final time.

"This stopped feeling like home a long time ago."

Without another word, I walked past him.

He reached for my wrist instinctively.

Then slowly let his hand fall.

"Emily..."

I didn't look back.

The apartment door closed behind me.

For five years, I had always been the one chasing after Owen whenever he walked away.

This time...

I was the one leaving.

And for the first time in years, I had no intention of turning around.