Emma, Ive changed my mind about marrying you. My ex has proposed againhes got a brighter future, the bride declared on her wedding day.
Keith, we need to talk, Emma stood in the doorway of the grooms suite, stunning in her wedding dress but with a strange, determined look on her face.
I looked up, surprised. I had just finished tying my bow tie and was about to step out. The ceremony was only thirty minutes away.
Emma, whats this? Its bad luck for a bride to see the groom before the wedding, I said with a smile. A nasty omen.
No more omens, she replied, stepping forward and closing the door firmly behind her. The loving gaze Id always known was now cold and foreign. I have something to tell you.
A feeling snapped inside me. Id known Emma for four years and could read every inflection, every glance. Id never seen her like this before.
Whats wrong? I asked, though my gut already knew the answer wouldnt be pleasant.
She inhaled deeply, as if ready to plunge into icy water.
Ive changed my mind about marrying you, she said evenly. My expartner has proposed. He has a better outlook.
I stared at her, stunned, as the June sun streamed through the hotel window where wed been staying for the rehearsal. Downstairs, guests were gathering, bridesmaids were laughing, music played. In that small room, my world collapsed.
Youre joking? I managed to say.
No. Im sorry, she lowered her eyes. I know this is terrible timing, but its better now than to suffer forever later.
Suffer? Rage rose in me. You were going to suffer with me? All those four years what was that? Waiting for something better?
Emma winced as if she had a toothache.
Dont simplify it. I was happy with you, truly. But Oliver hes always been special to me. You knew that from the start.
I did know. When we first met at a mutual friends birthday, Emma had just broken up with Oliver Vanea successful restaurateur who owned a chain of eateries. Their twoyear relationship ended abruptly when Oliver moved to the United States to expand his business, leaving Emma heartbroken.
I had patiently helped her pick up the pieces, month after month, never pressuring her. I was just therereliable, understanding, caring. Eventually, Emma seemed to return my feelings, or at least thats how I thought.
Did he come back? I asked, trying to steady myself. When?
About a month ago, she answered quietly. He called while you were on a work trip to Manchester.
So you decided like this? After a month?
It wasnt simple, she lifted her gaze, resolve shining through. I fought with myself. But when he proposed Keith, you have to understand. Hes launching a restaurant group across Europe. Ill have my own cosmetics line. Its a completely different life.
I stared at the woman Id called the love of my life that morningbeautiful, smart, ambitious Emma. She managed a highend salon and dreamed of her own business. I had supported those dreams, even though I was just a modest engineer earning a decent, but unremarkable, salary.
What about our plans? I asked. The house we talked about? Children?
I have other plans now, she stepped back toward the door. I must go. Olivers waiting downstairs.
Here? I couldnt believe it. Hes come to the hotel on our wedding day?
I asked him to come, Emma was already gripping the handle. I didnt want to be alone after this conversation.
What about the guests? The parents? My mother travelled from Bristol just to see us
Ill explain to everyone, she cut in. Ill say its my fault, that it was a sudden decision.
Its sudden, indeed! I raised my voice. Yesterday you said you loved me! This morning you kissed me and promised happiness!
I was wrong, Emma lowered her eyes. Im sorry this happened.
She left, quietly closing the door behind her.
I stood in the middle of the room, stunned and crushed, the clock on the wall ticking fifteen minutes to the ceremony. Below, the guests waited, the band played, everything was set for a celebration that would never happen.
I collapsed onto the bed, loosening my bow tie. My mind swirled with fragmentswhy? How could she? What now? How do I face all those people?
The door opened again, this time without a knock. Ian, my best man and oldest friend, stepped in.
Keith, whats going on? he looked bewildered. Emma just walked out of the hall in her dress, tears streaming, with some man. They got into a black Mercedes and left. What the
Shes not marrying me, I said dryly. Her ex has returned. Hes more promising, you see.
Ian opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
Bloody hell on your wedding day? Seriously?
More than seriously, I replied, pacing the room. We need to tell the guests. Cancel everything.
Ill help, Ian placed a hand on my shoulder. What do you need?
I dont know, I admitted. It feels like a nightmare.
Going to the reception hall and announcing the wedding was off was the hardest thing Id ever faced. I endured sympathetic looks, whispered gossip, endless questions. Emmas parents looked as shocked as I didclearly she hadnt told them her plan. My own mother, whod driven up from Devon, wept and kept asking, What happened, love?
When the night ended and the untouched banquet lay untouched, I sat in the suite staring at a blank wall. My phone buzzed nonstopfriends, colleagues, relativesall trying to reach me. I didnt answer a single call.
Here, Ian handed me a glass of whisky. Drink. Itll ease it.
I took a sip; the burn in my throat didnt calm my nerves.
You know whats the worst part? I said after a long silence. I always felt she wasnt wholly mine. That somewhere deep down she kept Olivers memory. I thought time would heal it.
It happens, Ian said, sitting opposite. First loves, all that. But to ditch someone on the wedding day thats beyond the pale.
She always loved grand gestures, I muttered bitterly. Remember how we met?
At Sophies birthday, Ian recalled. She was sitting there, looking sad in a black dress, mourning someone.
And I walked over and said?
Maybe black isnt your colour? Ian finished. I gave her a silly daisy from a pot.
She smiled for the first time that evening, I remembered, closing my eyes. She said she felt life was moving forward again.
And now she leaves you for the same guy she was grieving over, Ian shook his head. Lifes a cruel joker.
The night passed without sleep. I lay staring at the ceiling, replaying the past four yearshappy moments, arguments, reconciliations, future plans. Was it all a lie? Or did she truly love me until Oliver reappeared?
In the morning I returned to the flat wed shared to pack my things. The moment I turned the key, emptiness hit me. Emma had already cleared her favourite knickknacks, photos, her toiletries.
On the kitchen table lay an envelope. Inside was a note and the apartment key.
Keith, Im sorry for everything. Youre a good man and deserve happiness. I have to go my own way. Ill collect my things later. Emma
Brief. Dry. No explanations, no regrets. As if four years could be crossed out with a single slip of paper.
I sank onto the sofa wed chosen together after endless debates about colour. Id wanted a navy one; shed insisted on beige, practical. A navy sofa feels like a bachelors choice, shed said. Were a family, arent we?
Family the word now burned my throat.
Later that day I moved my belongings to Ians flat. He offered me a room while I got my life back on track. My boss, hearing the news, gave me a weeks leave. I felt numb, stuck in a limbo from which neither friends nor family could pull me out.
A week later, Sophie called. Keith, can we meet? I need to talk, she said, voice tense.
We met at a small café near Ians house. Sophie looked both embarrassed and resolute.
You know Ive known Emma since university, she began. I feel awkward sticking my nose in, but you should know something.
About her and Oliver? I replied, a bitter smile on my lips. No thanks, I dont need details.
Its not about them. Its about you, she pressed. I overheard Emma talking to Oliver before the wedding. They were discussing you.
What did they say? I asked, unsure if I wanted the answer.
She asked why shed ever agree to marry me, Sophie said. Oliver answered, Shes reliable, predictable, safe. But boring.
The word boring hit me harder than any blow.
Then Oliver said, A stone wall is solid, but living inside it feels like being buried. And Emma agreed.
I sat, coffee cooling in my cup, a storm of anger, hurt, and shame raging inside. The accusation that I was boring cut deeper than any heartbreak.
Why tell me this? I asked.
Because its not true, Sophie replied, meeting my eyes. Youre not boring. Youre thoughtful, witty. With Emma, you just faded into the background, became a shadow, afraid to step out and risk losing her.
I thought of how often Id compromised, altered my schedule for her, turned down trips with friends because she worried. Id even stopped meeting certain mates she disliked.
Why didnt you say this earlier? I whispered.
Would I have been believed? Sophie shook her head. You idolised her, Keith. She was your goddess, your perfect.
Are you saying this now because you feel sorry for me?
No, she said firmly. Because I want you to see it: it isnt you. Its her endless chase for something flashier, more dramatic. Oliver is a fireworks displaybright, loud, impressive, then it fizzles out.
After that talk something shifted. I shook off the stupor, returned to work, found a new flat, started jogging in the morningssomething Id abandoned because Emma disliked me leaving early. The pain dulled over time, though some nights I still woke to an empty feeling, still caught myself thinking, I should tell Emma, when something interesting happened. Life kept moving.
Three months later I saw her in a department store, standing before a jewellery display, eyes scanning rings. She was still as striking, confident, radiant.
Hello, I said, walking up.
Emma flinched, turned, a mix of surprise, embarrassment, something hard to read crossing her face.
Keith hi, she forced a smile. How are you?
Better than three months ago, I answered honestly. Still looking at rings?
She blushed, looked away.
Yes, Oliver and I in a month.
Congratulations, I said, genuinely. I hope this time it goes through.
Keith, she bit her lip. I know this hurts you. Im really sorry
No need, I raised a hand, stopping her. Everythings been said. I just wanted thank you.
For what? she asked, genuinely puzzled.
For leaving, I replied. If you hadnt, Id still be living someone elses life, not my own, losing myself.
She frowned.
Thats not necessary, I smiled. Goodbye, Emma. Be happy.
I walked away feeling an unexpected lightness, as if a weight Id carried for years had finally dropped.
Later that evening my phone rang. The caller ID showed Emmas number.
Hello? I answered, curiosity, not anger, in my voice.
Keith, can we talk? Emmas voice sounded unsteady.
We already spoke today, I reminded her.
No, I mean seriously. I cant stop thinking about what you said about living someone elses life, about losing myself.
Whats there to think about? I shrugged, though she could not see me. I meant exactly what I said.
Were you unhappy with me? she asked, a hint of hurt in her tone.
No, I said honestly. I was happy, but it was a happiness that required me to give up parts of myselfmy desires, my interests, my principles. Id molded myself to fit your expectations, become smaller, quieter, more convenient.
Silence stretched. Then she whispered, Did I lose myself with you too?
I dont think so, I laughed softly. You always knew what you wanted and went after it.
Another pause. Then she said, Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldnt have
Stop, I cut in. Dont do that, Emma. You made the choice you thought was right, and I accepted it. Theres no turning back.
Why? she asked, tears in her voice. If we both made a mistake
Because I no longer want to be the convenient option, I said firmly. I dont want to be a backup runway, waiting for you to look elsewhere for something brighter, more prosperous.
Youve changed, she observed after a beat.
Yes, I agreed. And perhaps thats the only positive outcome of all this. Thank you for the call, Emma, but please dont call again.
I hung up, breathed deeply, a strange blend of sorrow and relief filling me. One chapter closed, and a new one lay ahead, ready for me to write its own story.
Six months later, on a crisp December day, I stood on the viewing platform of a ski resort in the Lake District. I had finally fulfilled a longheld dreamlearning to ski. The sun glittered on the powdery slopes, and I felt utterly content.
Beautiful, isnt it? a voice called beside me.
I turned to see a woman in a bright blue ski jacket, her brown eyes sparkling with gold flecks.
Indeed, I replied, smiling. First time here?
This is my third, she said, taking off a glove and extending her hand. Anna.
Keith, I shook it. Are you a pro?
Just a stubborn enthusiast, she laughed. I fall a lot but always get back up. And you?
Newbie, living a longstanding dream, I said, watching the skiers swoosh down the hill. You know, there are things we keep putting off, thinking maybe later. Then you realise, if not now, it might never happen.
A philosopher, she mused, tilting her head. I like people who think about life.
And I like people who can fall and get up, I answered. Care to tackle this run together? I promise a graceful tumble.
Deal, Anna giggled, her laughter echoing across the snowcovered mountains. First one to the lodge at the bottom buys mulled wine!
She shot down the slope, and I followed, feeling my heart swell with pure, unblemished joy. For the first time in ages I was completely, unapologetically myself. All the losses and heartbreaks had finally led me back to this moment.
Sometimes you have to lose something precious to discover something pricelessyour own self.
