The Bride You Never Found

The night before our engagement party, my fiancé, Brett, and my best friend, Carly, vanished into thin air again. It was their favorite game. Whenever the three of us went out, they would switch off their phones without warning and slip away into the dark, waiting to see who I would frantically hunt down first. If I found Brett first, Carly would burst into tears, accusing me of choosing a man over our sisterhood. If I found Carly first, Brett’s face would harden into ice. "Who’s actually your fiancé here?" he would sneer. I was reaching for my coat, getting ready to scour the city for them, when Brett’s iPad lit up on the sofa cushion. A message from Carly flashed across the screen. "She’s called me eight times already." Brett’s reply popped up instantly. "Twelve on my end." Carly: "Wanna bet who she tracks down first tonight?" Brett: "Of course I do." "If I win, you’re mine. No more pretending." My fingers froze. The air left my lungs in one cold, jagged breath. Numbly, I scrolled up. The game hadn’t started this week. It had been running for three years. Bets on how long it took for me to panic. Bets on whether I would break down sobbing. Bets on whether I’d drag myself out into the freezing midnight rain with a hundred-and-three fever just to make sure they were still breathing. My phone vibrated in my palm. A live pin dropped from Brett. "Find me within the hour, and next week’s engagement party is still on." I looked down at the glowing blue dot on the map, then quietly clicked the power button. The screen went pitch black. Every time before this, I had been terrified of losing them. Terrified of the silence. But this time? I didn't care anymore. … I didn't leave the apartment. I curled up on the edge of the sofa and watched the indifferent hands of the wall clock drag themselves toward dawn. At seven-thirty in the morning, the keypad on the front door beeped. The deadbolt turned. The moment Carly saw me sitting frozen on the sofa, she rushed forward, clutching my hands with theatrical desperation. "Why didn't you reach out to us? I thought something terrible happened to you!" Brett followed right behind her, his brows knit into a harsh, irritated knot. "You sat here all night? You didn't even bother looking outside?" "I literally sent you my location. Were you seriously too lazy to move?" At the mention of the location, Carly shifted slightly behind his back. Her manicured fingers reached out, pinching Brett’s waist beneath his jacket, her lips silently mouthing two words: "You cheated." I lifted my chin and looked at them. A dry, bitter laugh caught in my throat. "I just didn't want to go." "I didn't feel like looking for you. Is that a crime?" Brett blinked, momentarily thrown. He clearly hadn't expected this tone from me. "Fine. You didn't want to look for me, right?" "Since you don't give a damn whether we live or die, you don't need to come to the bridal shoot today either." "To teach you a lesson for this cold shoulder, I'm taking Carly instead." Carly gave his sleeve a gentle tug. "Brett, stop talking crazy," she said softly. "Those are your engagement photos. What would people say if I went with you?" Brett gripped Carly’s hand in return, his voice defiant. "What's wrong with it? She clearly doesn't care anyway." The engagement photoshoot. I had waited five years for it. I had spent countless sleepless nights imagining the dress, the light, the look in his eyes. I thought I would be gutted. I thought I would scream, throw something, demand an explanation. But the agony didn't come. When a heart truly dies, tears are a luxury. In their place was only an exhaustion that reached down to my marrow. I nodded slowly. "All right. You two go ahead." Brett froze again, eyeing me with suspicious disbelief. He had armored himself with a dozen cutting remarks to counter my tears, but my quiet surrender choked the words right back down his throat. "What kind of mind game are you playing now?" Carly stepped closer, trying to take my arm. "Margot, you're just saying that because you're angry, right?" "Brett just has a stubborn temper. He's trying to get a rise out of you. Don't take it to heart." I shook off her touch, looking directly into her eyes. "I'm not angry." Brett's jaw set hard, fury flaring in his eyes, provoked by my utter indifference. He grabbed Carly’s wrist and turned sharply toward the door. "Since she wants to play the saint, let's go! We're shooting without her!" "Leave her alone. Let's see how long this tough act lasts!" The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them with a violent thud. The tremor shook the wall, knocking down the crimson silk engagement garland hanging in the foyer. It fell to the floor like a pile of dead petals. I took out my phone and dialed the event planner. "Hi. I’m Brett’s fiancée." "Please go ahead and cancel the engagement party scheduled for next week." After hanging up, a calendar alert flashed on my screen: "10:00 AM — Editorial Bridal Portraits, Studio Lumière." I stared at the glowing letters until a stinging heat pricked behind my eyelids. I had booked this studio over eight months ago. Whenever I tried to show Brett mood boards and discuss lighting styles, he would scoff and look away. He told me he hated cameras, that he froze in front of lenses, that I shouldn't burden him with vanity. In the five years we were together, my phone held scarcely a handful of decent photos of us. I truly believed he was camera-shy. Now I knew the truth. It wasn't the lens he despised; it was simply that in his vision of tomorrow, he had never reserved a place for me in white. I drew in a steadying breath and called the studio manager. Half an hour later, the phone on the coffee table buzzed. It was Brett. The second I swiped to answer, his furious voice exploded through the speaker, layered with Carly’s muffled, tearful sniffling in the background. "What the hell is your problem today? Why is the studio telling me the entire package is frozen?" "They're demanding a full twelve-thousand-dollar deposit to continue! Carly’s hair and makeup are half done! Do you get off on humiliating me in public like this?" "Wire the money right now!" I closed my eyes, keeping my voice level. "I froze it because I booked that package for myself." "If I'm not shooting, of course I'm taking my money back." Silence fell over the other end of the line. Brett seemed to step into a quieter hallway, his tone softening with forced patience. "Look, that’s enough. Are you seriously throwing a fit because I missed a few calls last night?" "I sent you my pin. You chose not to show up." "Fine, I admit it—I shouldn't have worried you. Are you happy now?" "Be good, Margot. Just pay the balance. Photoshoots are exhausting anyway. When the proofs come out, we'll just have them Photoshop your face onto Carly’s body. Wouldn't that save you the trouble?" Photoshop my face onto Carly’s body. Get the picture-perfect memory without having to lift a finger. He said it so smoothly, so righteously, as if he were bestowing some grand mercy upon me. I looked at the fallen crimson ribbon on the floor. Trying to explain the sickness of his proposal felt like a waste of breath. You cannot wake someone who is determined to play asleep. "No need," I said. "Have a wonderful shoot, both of you." Before he could speak, I disconnected the call. It was nearly twilight when Brett and Carly finally returned. Brett marched in, slamming his key fob down on the glass table with a crack. "Are you satisfied now?" "Shutting down a shoot in front of the entire crew—do you know how that makes me look?" "I had to pull out my personal card to cover the full balance. We're about to be married, Margot. Does it really matter whose card it is?" "When did you become so petty? Where did your grace go?" Before I could answer, Carly tugged his sleeve and hurriedly slid a velvet jewelry box toward me. "Margot, please don't fight," Carly murmured. "Look, Brett went out of his way to buy you this bracelet before we went to the studio." The box sat wide open. Inside lay an unbranded, roughly cast alloy chain. In our five years together, Brett knew full well that I suffered from severe contact dermatitis. I could only wear pure silver or surgical platinum. I didn't bother pointing out my allergy. I didn't reach for the box. I simply stood up and walked into my bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I scrolled deep into my contacts until I found a profile picture that had sat quiet for years. "Bridget, is that partner position at the Edinburgh print studio still open?" A minute later, she answered. "It is. But aren't you having your engagement party next week?" "Five years ago, you turned down a full scholarship at the academy for Brett. Did you two break up?" Back then, Brett had told me, "I need you here." So I stayed, anchoring myself to his side for five years. And in return, I was made the punchline of a three-year bet. I swallowed the lump in my throat and typed back: "I've made up my mind. I'm taking it." "I'll report next Friday. I won't be coming back." The three dots danced on the screen before Bridget sent a single word: "Good." Once my breath leveled, I opened the door and walked back into the living room. Brett was on the sofa. He patted the empty cushion beside him. "Come here," he said, sounding almost conciliatory. "What's with the attitude lately? Look, I've got a real surprise for you. You're going to love this." I paused a few paces away. He pulled two glossy tickets from his breast pocket. Maksim Mrvica’s farewell tour. Front-row VIP seats. I stood rooted to the floor, my deadened heart giving an involuntary, painful flutter. I had talked about this piano concert for six months. At the time, Brett had dismissed it with a scowl: "Wasting thousands of dollars to watch someone bang on pieces of wood? Forget it." He had remembered? A prickle of warmth rose behind my eyes. Instinctively, I reached out my hand. Before my fingertips could graze the paper, Brett snatched them back and dropped them squarely into Carly’s lap. "Keep these safe, Carly," he said casually. "Next Saturday night. Don't mix up the date." My hand hung empty in the air. Brett looked up at me with an air of absolute authority. "I originally bought these to reward you for being good," he said. "But you embarrassed both of us today. You ruined the mood for everyone." "So I decided I'm taking Carly instead." "Besides, after the engagement party next Saturday afternoon, you'll be exhausted anyway. You can just rest at the hotel." Carly clutched the tickets, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Margot... you're not mad that I'm taking your seat, are you?" A sharp, hollow ache sliced through my chest. Slowly, I drew my hand back and curled my lips into a faint smile. "Why would I be mad?" "Those tickets were impossible to get. You two... definitely shouldn't miss it." Go ahead and go. Because next Saturday’s engagement party wouldn't have a bride anyway. Through the closed bedroom door, I could hear Brett and Carly laughing as they debated what outfits to wear to the concert. I slid down onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and stared at the scars mapping the back of my right hand. I used to protect these hands like a musician protects her ears. Three years ago, Brett and Carly had gone camping in the foothills when a flash flood triggered a mudslide, cutting off all communication. I drove through torrential rain in the dead of night, clawing through loose gravel and shale with my bare hands after the access road was blocked. By the time I reached their tent, my fingernails were torn off, my ten fingers raw and bleeding into the mud. And when Brett saw my mangled, trembling hands, his first reaction wasn't horror, nor was it tenderness. He simply turned to Carly, a cocky smirk on his face: "See? Told you she’d track us down no matter what. You lose." Looking at the raised, silvery scars today, I finally saw the truth: the girl who had nearly died to love him was nothing more than a pathetic fool. The days that followed were wrapped in an eerie, brittle silence. Brett was convinced I was merely sulking. To force me to fold first, he stopped pretending altogether. He brought Carly home openly. He placed her toothbrush and skincare bottles right next to mine on the bathroom vanity. He expected me to break, to scream, to throw her things in the trash and beg him to choose me, just like I used to. I did none of that. I simply stepped around the shoes they left tangled on the rug. And whenever they left the apartment, I packed my life into cardboard boxes and shipped them overseas, piece by piece. On Friday morning, while Brett was still fast asleep, I laced up my sneakers. I took the diamond engagement ring meant for tomorrow's ceremony and set it quietly on the entryway console. No yelling. No tears. Not a single goodbye. I opened the front door and stepped out into the crisp autumn wind. On Saturday morning, sitting in the international departure lounge, reviewing studio portfolios sent by Bridget, my phone erupted with relentless calls from Brett. The second I answered, his strangled fury poured through the speaker: "Margot, what the hell are you pulling?! Where are you?!" "Do you have any idea that the guests and relatives are almost all here? Throwing a tantrum is one thing, but know your damn limits!" I looked through the glass terminal wall at the planes lining the tarmac, my voice lighter than it had been in five years. "Brett, isn't hide-and-seek your favorite game? Don't you love betting on how long it takes me to find you?" His breath caught. "What are you talking about? Do you not understand what today is?!" "I understand completely," I said softly. "I just realized how boring your game is. I don't feel like playing anymore." "From now on, you and Carly can play it all by yourselves." Without waiting for his response, I ended the call. I blocked his number, purged him from my socials, and buried five wasted years in a single tap. …… Across the ocean, outside the grand ballroom of the downtown hotel. Brett stared at his darkened phone screen, his knuckles white. Carly tugged at his jacket sleeve. "Is Margot still mad? Should I call her and apologize for you?" "Apologize for what?!" Brett snarled, his teeth gritted. "She's doing this on purpose to humiliate me!" He straightened his lapels, sneering with wounded pride: "Ignore her. If she doesn't show up today, she can get down on her knees and beg—I'll never marry her!" Fixing his tie, he led Carly toward the double doors, walking past the curious glances of gathered family members, and pushed the doors wide open. The smug grin on Brett’s face instantly froze. Inside the sprawling ballroom, there were no ivory roses, no champagne towers. Instead, the room was bursting with multicolored balloons, and the massive LED screen at the front was flashing in bright, festive colors: "Happy 10th Birthday, Jackson!" A troupe of children in red party hats were chasing each other across the stage, laughing loudly. Brett’s mind detonated. He lunged forward, grabbing the passing hotel manager by the arm: "What the hell is this?! This hall was booked for my engagement party!" The manager glanced at Brett's face, politely but firmly pulling his sleeve free. "Mr. Dalton, Ms. Margot Price came in person five days ago to process the full cancellation." "She paid the cancellation fees and collected her remaining deposit. Naturally, the venue was released and rebooked."