Chapter 4
Mara posted an image of an ultrasound next to one of Beckett bent over a medical report, with the caption: “Baby, hurry up and come out. Your Mommy and Daddy can’t wait to see you!”
As I scrolled through the post, I saw that the first comment was from Beckett’s mother.
She wrote:
“Grandma is very excited too! I can’t wait to see my first grandson.”
The comment section was buzzing with replies from the Vaughn family, making it clear that everyone knew about Beckett’s marriage to Mara.
I thought back to my recent visit to the
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Vaughrifafaimmily. They had treated me soso warmly themen, but now it all felt like a crueliel joke.e.
I couldn’t help lp but wonder if they were re secretly laughingng at me while I was at discussing wedelilding plans with them. My y boyfriend was alrelaeady married to someone ne else, and there dewasas, iblissfully planning a a sham.
Wiping the tears from myreyeyes, I went home.
Before any date had beeneseséb for my and Beckett’s wedding, the Vaughghia family had already sent customary gold jeyewelry and bridal gifts. Once I got homeneplapacked everything they’d given me into a cacardboard box. This marked the end of myrtyesesiwith the Waughns.
After the abortion, my body was weakakibbook
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a few days off work to rest. One afternoon, as I lay half–asleep, I sensed someone
approaching. When I opened my eyes, I saw a familiar face.
It was Beckett. He raised his hand to touch mine. Feeling my cold skin, he looked concerned. “Clara, are you sick? Let me take you to the hospital for a checkup, okay?”
If this had been before, I would have sought comfort in his arms. But now, I pulled my hand away, tucked it under the blanket, and said, “It’s just a minor cold; there’s no need to go to the hospital.”
Beckett didn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm. He shook his head in exasperation. “If you were feeling unwell, why didn’t you tell me? We’re about to get married, so why are you keeping things from me?”
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The word “married” hit me like a splash of cold water. Married? Oh, right… he was already married.
I glanced at the cardboard box in the corner and spoke softly, “That’s right. Since we’re getting married soon, you should take your things with you today.”
Even though he didn’t live with me, Beckett occasionally stayed over, so there were quite a few of his belongings at my place. I had packed all his things the day I returned from the hospital.
Oblivious to the shift in my tone, Beckett smiled warmly. “Alright. Besides, after the wedding, we’ll be moving into the new house anyway.”
I remained silent.
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That evening, he made me a comforting bowl of hot vegetable beef soup with boiled eggs before leaving with his belongings.
As he stepped out, I said quietly, “Don’t come over again for the time being. I’m sick and don’t want to risk infecting you. Stay home and focus on becoming the most handsome groom.”
He gave me a resigned smile but agreed nonetheless.
In the following days, he didn’t visit but still texted me regularly. I replied with brief, perfunctory messages.
Time flew by, and soon, the wedding day arrived.
I didn’t put on the wedding dress Beckett had designed for me, nor did I show up
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at the venue to embrace the future I had once dreamed of. Instead, I purchased a high–speed train ticket to Brayford State.
Just before boarding, I received a call from the hotel staff, “Miss Westfield, when will you be arriving?”
I forwarded Mara’s photo to them and replied, “This is the real bride. I was just helping her rehearse. Please find her, help her get dressed and do her makeup.”
After the call, I methodically blocked and deleted every means of contacting Beckett. Then, I removed my SIM card, tucked it into my bag, and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace and whispered, “Beckett, I wish you a memorable day.”
