I still remember that June in the early nineties, when the sun hung lazily over London and the wedding party was buzzing in the old town hall of a Cotswold village. Evelyn Clarke had stood at the doorway of the grooms suite, resplendent in her ivory dress, but her eyes held a strange, determined coldness.
Chris, we need to talk, she said, her voice barely muffled by the heavy oak door.
Christopher Hart, who had just finished knotting his bow tie, looked up in surprise. He was a modest engineer, his salary respectable but far from the lofty figures of the City. The ceremony was half an hour away.
Evelyn, you cant be looking at the groom before the vows, he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Its a bad omen, you know.
She stepped forward, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The love that had always lingered in her gaze was now replaced by something unfamiliar. I have something to tell you, she whispered.
A knot tightened in Chriss chest. He had known Evelyn for four years and could read every nuance of her tone. He had never seen her like this.
Whats happened? he asked, though his intuition already screamed that the answer would not be pleasant.
She drew a deep breath, as if preparing to plunge into icy water.
Ive changed my mind about marrying you, she said evenly. My former boyfriend has proposed again. Hes more promising.
Chris stared at her, his mind refusing to accept the words. Outside the hotel window, the June sun bathed the streets, guests were gathering downstairs, the bridesmaids were laughing, and a brass band was tuning. Inside, his world collapsed.
Youre joking? he managed to gasp.
No, she replied, dropping her eyes. Im sorry. I know this is dreadful, but its better now than to waste a lifetime.
Wasting a lifetime? Chris felt anger rise like a tide. You were going to suffer with me? All these four yearswhat were they? A wait for something better?
Evelyn winced as if a tooth hurt.
Dont simplify it. With you was good, truly. But Oliver hes always been special to me. You knew that from the start.
She was right. When theyd first met at a mutual friends birthday, Evelyn had just ended a twoyear romance with Oliver Whitaker, a successful restaurateur who had left for America to expand his business, leaving her heart in shards.
Chris had patiently gathered the pieces of her broken heart month after month. He never pressured her; he simply stood by, steady and understanding. Eventually, she had seemed to return his affectionat least, thats how he remembered it.
Did he come back? Chris asked, trying to steady his thoughts. When?
About a month ago, she replied softly. He called while you were on a work trip to Manchester.
You decided this quickly? In a month?
It wasnt easy, she said, eyes flashing with resolve. But when he proposed you have to understand, Chris. Hes setting up a restaurant chain across Europe. Ill have my own line of cosmetics. Its a completely different life.
Chris stared at the woman he had, that very morning, called the love of his lifebeautiful, intelligent, ambitious Evelyn. She worked as a manager in a salon, dreaming of her own business, while he was a plainspoken engineer with a decent, if unremarkable, salary.
What about our plans? he asked. The house we talked about? Children?
I have other plans now, she said, stepping back toward the door. I must go. Oliver is waiting downstairs.
Here? Chris could not believe his ears. Hes come to the village on our wedding day?
I asked him to come, Evelyn said, already grasping the knob. I didnt want to be alone after this conversation.
What about the guests? My mother drove up from Kent to see us?
Ill explain to everyone, she interrupted. Ill say its my fault, that it was a sudden decision.
Its sudden indeed! Chriss voice rose. Yesterday you said you loved me! This morning you kissed me and promised happiness!
I was wrong, Evelyn lowered her eyes. Im sorry it turned out like this.
And with that she slipped out, the door closing softly behind her.
Chris stood amid the empty suite, stunned and crushed, the clock on the wall ticking down the fifteen minutes left until the ceremony. Below, the guests were waiting, the music was ready, the celebration that would never happen.
He sank onto the bed, loosening his bow tie, his thoughts a chaotic whirl. Why? How could she? What now? How could he face the crowd?
The door opened again, this time without a knock. Ian Barker, his best man and lifelong friend, stepped in, looking bewildered.
Chris, whats happening? Ian asked. Evelyn just walked through the hall in her dress, crying, with some man. They got into a black Mercedes and left.
Shes not marrying me, Chris said dryly. Her ex returned. Hes more promising, you see.
Ian opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Bloody hell on the wedding day?
More than that, Chris replied, pacing. We need to tell the guests. Cancel everything.
Ill help, Ian said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. What do you need?
It feels like a nightmare, Chris admitted. Im not sure what to do.
Announcing the cancellation was the hardest part of the day. The shocked faces of the parents, the murmurs of the guests, his own mother from Surrey sobbing, pleading, How could this happen, my son? The banquet hall remained untouched, the feast untouched, while the phone rang incessantly with calls from family and friends. He answered none.
Ian handed him a glass of whisky. Drink. It might dull the edge.
Chris took a sip; the burn did little to ease his mind.
You know whats the worst part? he said after a long silence. I always felt she wasnt entirely mine. That somewhere deep down she still held Olivers image. I told myself it would fade.
It happens, Ian said, sitting opposite. First loves, they linger. But to dump you on the day you vowed thats beyond anything.
She loved grand gestures, Chris muttered bitterly. Remember how we met?
At Evelyns birthday, she was in a black dress, looking mournful over a past love, Ian recalled.
You walked over and said
Perhaps black isnt your colour? Ian finished, smiling. You gave her a daisy from a pot.
And she finally smiled that night, saying life must go on, Chris added, closing his eyes.
Now shes left you for the same man she once mourned, Ian shook his head. Lifes a cruel jester.
The night passed without sleep. Chris lay staring at the ceiling, replaying four years of happiness, arguments, reconciliations, future plans. Was it all a lie? Or had she truly loved him until Oliver resurfaced?
In the morning he returned to the flat theyd shared to collect his belongings. The door opened with his key, and the emptiness hit him fiercely. Evelyns favourite figurines were gone, the framed photographs cleared, the bathroom empty of her cosmetics.
On the kitchen table lay an envelope. Inside was a brief note and the spare key to the flat.
Chris, Im sorry for everything. Youre a good man and deserve happiness. I must go my own way. Ill collect my things later. Evelyn
Brief, dry, bereft of explanation. As if four years could be erased with a scrap of paper.
He sank onto the sofa theyd fought over for colourshe had insisted on a tasteful beige, he had wanted a bold navy. A navy sofa feels like a bachelors choice, shed once teased. Were a family now, shed replied.
Familynow a word that burned his throat.
He packed his things and moved in with Ian, who offered a spare room. His boss at the engineering firm, upon hearing the news, granted him a weeks leave. He fell into a numbness that friends and relatives could not pull him from.
A week later his old university friend, Sarah, called.
Chris, can we meet? her voice trembled. Theres something you should know.
They met in a small café near Ians flat. Sarah, whod known Evelyn since university, looked both anxious and determined.
I heard a conversation between Evelyn and Oliver, before the wedding, she began. Oliver asked why shed agree to marry you. She replied, Youre reliable, predictable, safe. But boring.
Chris felt a cold knot tighten. Boring. The word struck harder than any accusation.
Later Oliver said, Hes just a simple engineer. Whats there to love? Evelyn answered, He loves me truly, cares for me. With him I feel like Im behind a stone wall. Oliver laughed, saying, A stone wall is solid, but living inside it feels like being sealed in.
Chris sat there, coffee cooling, his mind a storm of anger, hurt, shame. He realised he had been the very predictable, safe that Evelyn found dull.
Why tell me this now? he asked.
Because its not true, Chris, Sarah said, meeting his gaze. Youre not boring. Youre thoughtful, witty. With Evelyn you merely dimmed yourself, became a shadow. You stopped chasing your own passions, gave up trips to the Lake District because she feared for you. You lost friends, ignored your own dreams.
He swallowed, the regret heavy.
Why didnt you say this earlier? he whispered.
Would you have listened? Sarah shook her head. You idolised her, saw her as a goddess. Its only now, after the wreck, that I can speak plainly.
She left, and the weight on his shoulders shifted. He returned to work, found a new flat, began running each morningsomething hed abandoned because Evelyn disliked early outings. The pain dulled with time, though occasional nighttime emptiness lingered, and the thought, I should tell her, kept resurfacing.
Three months later, in a bustling shopping centre, he saw her again. Evelyn stood before a jewellery window, examining rings. She was as striking as ever, confidence radiating.
Hello, he said, stepping forward.
She jumped, turning, a flicker of surprise, embarrassment, and something harder to read crossing her face.
Chris hi, she managed, a tight smile. How are you?
Better than three months ago, he replied. Still looking at rings?
She blushed, looking away. Yes, Oliver and I were getting married next month.
Congratulations, he said, surprised at how genuine his voice sounded. I hope it goes through this time.
She hesitated, then pressed her lips together. I know it hurts you. Im truly sorry
Theres no need, he raised his hand, stopping her. Everythings been said. I just wanted to thank you.
Thank you for what? she asked, genuinely puzzled.
For leaving, he said simply. If you hadnt, Id still be living someone elses life, losing myself.
She frowned. I dont understand.
Thats fine, he smiled. Farewell, Evelyn. Be happy.
He walked away feeling an unexpected lightness, as if a heavy burden had finally been set down.
Later that day his phone rang. The display read Evelyns number.
Hello? he answered, curiosity eclipsing any lingering anger.
Chris, could we talk? her voice was unusually tentative.
We spoke just now, he reminded her.
Its serious. I cant stop thinking about what you said about losing yourself.
Whats there to think about? he shrugged, though she could not see him. I meant exactly that.
Were you unhappy with me? her tone edged toward hurt.
No, he replied honestly. I was happy, but it was a happiness that required me to surrender parts of myselfmy wishes, my interests, my principles. I became the convenient, predictable option for you, smaller, quieter, easier.
A silence settled. Then she asked, Did I lose myself with you?
I dont think so, he said, a faint grin forming. Youve always known what you wanted and chased it.
Another pause, then she whispered, Maybe I was wrong maybe I shouldnt have left.
Stop, he interrupted gently. Dont say that. You made a choice you believed was right, and I accepted it. Theres no road back.
Why? tears trembled in her voice. If we both made mistakes
Because I no longer want to be the backup runway. I dont want to wonder if youll look elsewhere for something brighter, more prospective.
She sighed. Youve changed.
Yes, he agreed. And perhaps thats the only positive outcome of our story. Thank you for the call, Evelyn, but please, dont call again.
He hung up, inhaled deeply, feeling a strange mix of sorrow and relief. One chapter ended; another lay ahead, to be written by his own hand.
Six months later, in the crisp December snow of a ski resort in the Lake District, Chris stood on a viewing platform, finally fulfilling a longheld dream of learning to ski. The sun caught the glittering slopes, and a woman in a bright blue jacket approached, her brown eyes sparkling.
Lovely, isnt it? she said.
He turned, smiling. First time here?
Its my third, she replied, taking off a glove and extending her hand. Anna.
Chris Hart, he said, shaking it. So youre a pro then?
More a stubborn amateur, she laughed. I fall a lot, but I always get back up. And you?
Just a beginner, chasing a dream, he answered, eyes on the hill where skiers darted. You know, we often put things off, thinking maybe later. Then later never comes.
Philosopher, she teased, tilting her head. I like people who think about life.
I like people who can fall and rise again, he replied. Want to join me on this run? I promise a graceful tumble.
Deal, Anna laughed, her voice echoing off the snowcovered pines. First to the lodge buys the mulled wine!
She sprinted down, and he followed, his heart light as the fresh powder beneath his boots. For the first time in years he felt utterly himself, and that feeling was worth every loss and heartache he had endured.
Sometimes you must lose something precious to discover something pricelessyour own self.
