Please don't talk like this. Like what? Like you don't care. I shook my head. I cared enough to marry you.
She looked away. I want another chance. You had one. Steven, you had 6 years with me, almost 2 years engaged. You had a wedding 7 weeks away.
You had every opportunity to tell me what you wanted. She wiped her face. I was confused. You weren't confused when you left. That silenced her.
She stood there for another moment before whispering, "Do you hate me? " No. Her expression changed. Then why can't you forgive me? I can forgive you. She looked at me hopefully.
But forgiveness doesn't mean I take you back. Her face fell. I stepped aside and opened the door wider. You should go. She looked at me for several seconds.
Then she nodded. Okay. She walked toward her car without another word. I watched her leave. For the first time, I understood something clearly.
I didn't need her to regret what she'd done. I only needed to make sure I never regretted what I did next. 3 months later, I was standing in the same venue where Deborah and I had planned to get married. Not for a wedding, for a company dinner. The room looked smaller without the decorations we'd chosen.
The tables were arranged differently, and the flowers we'd spent weeks discussing were nowhere in in I didn't feel anything when I walked in. That surprised me. For weeks after the breakup, Deborah had tried to contact me. Some messages were apologies, some were explanations, a few were simply, "I miss you. " I never responded. Eventually, they stopped.
William had helped me finish canceling everything. I moved into a smaller apartment, sold the townhouse, and started rebuilding my routine. Work became easier. My mornings became quieter. I stopped checking my phone whenever it buzzed.
Then, one evening, I saw Deborah again. She was outside a coffee shop near my office. She noticed me and walked over. "Steven. " I stopped. "How are you? " "Good. " She nodded.
"I heard you sold the house. " "I did. " "And you're moving? " "I already moved. " She looked at me for a moment. "I'm glad you're doing okay. " "Thank you. " She hesitated. "I really am sorry. " "I know. " "I wish I could go back. " "You can't. " "I know. " There was no anger in her voice anymore. Just regret. She looked at me.
"Do you ever think about what would have happened if I hadn't gone to that party? " I considered the question. "Sometimes. " "What do you think? " "I think we'd still be planning a wedding. " She smiled sadly. "Would you have been happy? " I shook my head. "I don't know. " That answer seemed to hurt her more than anything else I'd said. She nodded slowly.
"I deserved that. " "No, you deserved honesty. So did I. " I turned to leave. "Steven. " I looked back. "I did love you. " "I believe you. " She waited. "But you wanted something else. " Her eyes dropped.
"Yes. " "And I wasn't willing to become someone I wasn't just to keep you. " She nodded. Then I walked away. I didn't feel like I'd won. I didn't feel like she'd lost. I simply felt finished.
Deborah had thrown away our wedding for a life she thought she wanted. I had canceled the wedding because I finally understood that marrying her would have meant ignoring everything she'd already shown me. She made her choice. I made mine. And this time, I didn't look back.