My fiancée's childhood friend, James Anderson, sabotaged my wedding. Three times. The first time, he flew back from abroad and took my bride away right in the middle of the ceremony. He gave me this pathetic look and said, "Evelyn's mom wasn't doing well at the care facility. She wants to see her, so I had to take her there immediately." The second time, he got drunk and sneaked into our reception. He knocked over the champagne tower, and the surprise I'd spent ages planning for the wedding—he tore it to pieces and threw it in the basement. When he sobered up, he begged, "Matthew, this is all my fault. Take it out on me, hit me!" Now the third time. We moved the wedding to my fiancée's estate in the countryside. He deliberately gave me the wrong address. I drove straight into a cemetery on the outskirts of town. Evelyn Watson always tried to smooth things over. "James has been looking after my mom ever since she got sick. He's given up so much for me... and I ended up marrying you. He's just hurt. He's not trying to mess with you on purpose." But she had no idea. Because this time, her wedding was about to become a funeral. *** When I got out of the car and saw nothing but gravestones, I realized James had screwed me over again. He knew I wasn't familiar with Evelyn's family estate, so he gave me the wrong location. The groom's car ended up at a cemetery on the outskirts. I stood there in my white suit, staring at rows of graves. Inside the car were all the relatives and friends I'd picked up from the city for the wedding. I could hear them whispering. "This is the third time they've tried to hold this wedding! She clearly doesn't want to marry him." "No kidding. And the groom doesn't even know where the ceremony is—it's ridiculous." "A wedding at a cemetery? With whom? Ghosts?" My hands tightened on the steering wheel. The white suit I was wearing, the boutonnière on my chest—they felt like a joke. Last night, Evelyn lay in my arms and swore to me—promised me—that this time James would not cause any trouble. And now? I was a laughingstock again. Another failed wedding. Three hours later, Evelyn finally texted me back. "Sorry, James said he was just pulling a prank. Don't get upset over something so petty. I'll send you the estate address again." She used to reply instantly. But ever since her childhood friend came back, her replies had been fewer and slower. Evelyn's mother, Alice Watson, was in the back seat. She heard Evelyn's voice message. Her face went dark. She clutched her chest and said through gritted teeth, "Matthew... Has Evelyn been treating you like this all along?" Mrs. Watson hadn't been well. She's spent the last few years at a treatment facility abroad. She missed the first two weddings. This time, to attend her daughter's wedding, she flew back specially and asked me to bring her secretly, to surprise Evelyn. She called Evelyn. The phone kept getting hung up immediately. When it finally connected, Evelyn ripped into me. "Matthew, I already sent you the address! What more do you want? He'll never have the right to stand by my side. But you married me. Can't you just be the bigger person here? Don't forget, he's the one who's been taking care of my mom overseas all these years." Then, over the phone, I heard James's voice, all choked up. "Evelyn, I can't let you go. I can't live without you." "Mmm—ahh!" Evelyn suddenly let out a high, intimate moan. Along with it came the unmistakable wet sounds of bodies colliding. Anyone could tell what that meant. The call was cut off. Mrs. Watson panted heavily with rage. “Scoundrels! Scoundrels!” My face went pale. My nails dug into my palms until they bled. I didn't even feel it. Evelyn and I had never had sex. She’d told me she wanted to save her first time for her husband, not her boyfriend. So no matter what, she refused to let me touch her, and I endured it for her sake. And now? After seven years of dating, on the very day of our wedding, I heard her having sex with her childhood sweetheart. After a moment, I laughed bitterly and turned to Mrs. Watson. "Mrs. Watson, I don't want to go through with this wedding." I couldn't take her betrayal. I didn't want to keep swallowing it. But the next second, Mrs. Watson’s face suddenly turned purple. She clutched her chest and collapsed stiffly onto the seat, her body trembling violently. Her heart condition had been triggered by anger.
I rushed out of the car and climbed into the back seat, frantically asking Mrs. Watson where her medication was. When I finally found it and fed it to her, there was still no improvement. Someone noticed something was wrong and came over to ask what was happening. The moment they saw Mrs. Watson's condition, they panicked. "Call 911! She needs an ambulance now!" "This is an acute heart attack. She has to get to a hospital fast. The medicine won’t help anymore" But when I called emergency services, they told me the nearest major hospital was at least 45 miles away. And Mrs. Watson only had a few minutes. Our only option was a small local clinic. But those weren't marked on any map, and none of us knew this area—hell, we were in a cemetery. There wasn't even a living soul around to ask for directions. I called Evelyn again. She hung up immediately. I texted her. Nothing. I couldn't unlock Mrs. Watson's phone. I didn't have anyone else's number. I was desperate, trying to do something—anything—but I felt completely helpless. All I could do was watch Mrs. Watson's face turn darker purple, her breathing getting weaker and weaker. I took photos of her, sent them to Evelyn over and over, hoping for a response. Finally, she replied. It was a photo of her, naked, covered in hickeys, eyes closed, lying in bed next to James. I couldn't breathe. My hands were shaking. Her own mother was dying, and she was still hooking up with her man? A second later, she unsent the photo. But Mrs. Watson, in her final moments, had already seen it. Her eyes widened, and her last faint breath ceased. I ended up taking Mrs. Watson's body to the hospital morgue. The local doctor showed up late, sighed, and told me, "There was a clinic less than three miles away from where you were. A retired cardiologist—used to be a department head at a major hospital—opened it after he retired. If you'd known and gotten her there in time, she would've had a very good chance of surviving." I froze. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my heart. Then Evelyn called. Her voice was ice cold. "Matthew, what's your problem? Just because James pulled a little prank on you, you're going to curse my mom like this? Don't forget—she raised you too. That's just cruel." I was an orphan. The Watson family sponsored me my whole life. Mrs. Watson was always good to me. I never forgot that. That was why, even after everything Evelyn had put me through, I still forgave her. But now Mrs. Watson was gone. All I felt was the pain of losing someone I loved. "She's really gone, Evelyn. If you don't believe me, come to the hospital and see for yourself." Her voice shot up. "Matthew, I'm seriously pissed off now! You're still throwing a tantrum and won't come to the estate? Everyone's waiting for you, and you just don't show up—fine, whatever, let them laugh at me. But now you keep cursing my mom, saying she's dead? How sick are you?" I didn't bother arguing. I just sent her a photo of the death certificate. Not long after, Evelyn showed up at the hospital entrance. James was right there with her. The first thing she did? Slapped me across the face. Before I could even react, she held up her phone. On the screen was a photo of an older woman who looked a lot like Mrs. Watson, smiling happily at some overseas care facility. "James told me—my mom is still at the treatment facility abroad. She's flying back the day after tomorrow!" "Matthew, don't think I don't know what you're doing. This is revenge." "Today is our wedding day! You didn’t show up, yet drove all the guests to the hospital. Do you even know what you’re doing?" Her words cut through me like a knife. James had tricked the entire wedding party into driving to some remote cemetery, and she called it "a little prank." Mrs. Watson died because she didn't get help in time, I brought her body to the hospital, kept her in the morgue, and Evelyn called me disgusting. I let out a cold laugh. "You don't even remember what your own mother looks like anymore? If you really think nothing happened, come with me to the morgue and see for yourself." My tone must have finally shaken her. She started to realize something was off. That was when she noticed how wrecked I looked. My suit was filthy, and it smelled bad. The smell was from Mrs. Watson throwing up on me in her final moments. Evelyn wrinkled her nose and pinched it shut. "What's that stench? You're disgusting! I don't believe my mom's dead. James wouldn't lie to me. Take me to see her—now." Just as I turned to lead her inside, James bowed deeply. "Matthew, I'll apologize, okay? Just stop lying. I've been the one taking care of her overseas. You're telling me something happened to her? How is that even possible? If you just don't want me around Evelyn anymore, fine—I'll leave!"
A look of sudden realization crossed Evelyn’s face, followed immediately by a trace of impatience. "So that's what this is about. You messed up our wedding today—it wasn't James's fault. If you don't apologize to him publicly, the wedding's off." I just watched her go after James, completely unmoved. She still didn't get it. There was no "next time" for us. That night, after leaving the hospital, I posted on my private social media that Mrs. Watson had passed away from a heart attack. When I turned my phone on the next morning, I had hundreds of missed calls from Evelyn. Countless messages. She still thought I was so desperate to get back at James that I'd stoop to making up lies about Mrs. Watson's death. She kept threatening me, demanding I take the post down. I replied with one cold sentence. [Evelyn, we're done.] Her response came faster than any message she'd ever sent me. Her voice had a tremor she couldn't quite hide. "Matthew, you can't just break up with me. Seven years—you're throwing away seven years just like that? I won't accept it." "I'm not asking for your permission, Evelyn. I'm telling you how it is. I'll handle the funeral. After that, we're done." My voice was flat, "Right now, all I need from you is the address of that countryside estate." Moving the wedding to her childhood estate had been Evelyn's idea. She said she wanted to get married at the house she grew up in—said her mother had done the same, on that same lawn, and she wanted her mom to see her walk down the aisle there. Yet in the end, Mrs. Watson had been killed because of her, and I had become the laughingstock of the town. Evelyn let out a relieved breath and laughed softly into the phone. "Oh, so that's your game? You just wanted me to give you the address? Look, if you apologize to James nicely, we can still have the ceremony." I laughed bitterly. "What ceremony? Marrying a woman who spent our wedding day in bed with her childhood friend while her own mother was dying? I can't do that." Evelyn snapped. "Matthew! I've had it with you. My mom is fine—she's getting treatment overseas. If you keep spreading these lies about her, I swear—" The call ended badly. A few minutes later, she sent a long message. [James has loved me for years. He's taken care of my mom all this time. He's always had this one dream—to be my groom, just once. I've been hesitating because I didn't want to hurt you. But after the way you've acted? I've made up my mind. I'm saying yes. The day after tomorrow, he's going to be my groom.] I didn't reply. I just laughed at myself. Didn't he already have his wedding night with her? But she didn't know what I'd found while going through Mrs. Watson's belongings. James had only lasted about a week overseas before he got kicked out of the country for harassing a nurse. He hadn't been taking care of Mrs. Watson at all these past few years. I had. I'd been wiring money every month to a professional agency that sent caretakers to look after her. On my way to the police station, James called. He was gloating. "You think you can compete with me? Please. I've always been the one she cares about most. She even gave me her first time. Day after tomorrow, I'm the groom. You'll never mean as much to her as I do." "So what? I don't want something that's been tainted." My voice stayed cold. "You'll regret saying that." He hung up, clearly pissed. At the station, I handed over Mrs. Watson's death certificate and asked them to look up Evelyn's estate address. They found it easily. As I was thanking them and turning to leave, the officer stopped me. “You said you’re Evelyn’s husband? But according to our records, she’s already married. Her husband is listed as James Anderson. They registered as husband and wife three months ago."
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