The Engagement Betrayal

ist. The pain was a dull, throbbing counterpoint to the sharp agony in my chest. He left me alone, and I sat

t thought was to

but who had, at times, shown me a sliver of kindness. Maybe she

ng on the screen. I found her number and pressed call. She

as just about to look for you. The photographer

. "Mrs. Johnson... s

ell? Is it pre-wedding jitters?"

"He and his friends, they made a bet. About m

he spoke again, her voice had lost its w

ou know Mark can be awkward with his friends, he tries too hard to fit in. Don't make a scene over a boyish prank. Whatever it is, you

e about my pain. She cared about the merger. She cared about a

ed, the words tasting like poi

going to send someone to take you home. Get a good night's slee

hung

ismissed. A hysterical

him. I stood up, left the bag of melting ice on the desk, and walked out the back door into the chilly ni

the party faded behind me. I ended up near the main house, the Johnson family mansion wh

pstairs. The one with the big bay wind

in the window. It was Mark. Then a

art s

bed, the one that had been delivered just last week. The bed I had picked out. The bed where I h

the curt

hadows within. I stood there, frozen in the cold, and watched the silhouettes of my fiancé and

ard. It was a physical performance, a grotesq

times Mark had been so particula

vase there, Li

color. Repa

ays cluttering up the sp

guise of his particular tastes and his condition. He criticized my cooking, my

bedroom. He let her touch him freely. He let her have th

a phobia. It wasn't about his pa

as an irritation, my touch was a bu

as a delight, her touch was a c

. And another. The pain was a vast, empty ocean inside me. I had

itness to my own betrayal. The party eventually died down. Cars began

the light in th

egan to break on the horizon. I didn't move. I just watched, letting the cold seep into my

anceling a wedding. I

expected me at the church in m

bride. I would be coming to