1 Half an hour before the wedding rehearsal dinner, I told the wedding planner to scrap the original video. Her face went pale. "Miss Bennett, that video took three months to edit. Both of your families and all the guests are expecting to see it." I slid a flash drive across the table. "Play this instead." She opened the file. Ten seconds in, her fingers froze on the mouse. "Are you... absolutely sure you want to screen this?" I looked over at the massive LED screen dominating the ballroom. It was supposed to show a montage of my relationship with Gavin. But our eight years together amounted to so little that half of the three-minute video consisted of empty landscape shots. I had always told myself he was just quiet, a man of few words who didn't know how to show affection. Until last night. I was setting up an old phone Gavin had passed down to me and noticed he hadn't logged out of his cloud drive. Tucked away in a hidden gallery was a folder named: Three Thousand Days with Leah. It was filled with a tenderness he had never once shown me. In that single, quiet moment, the truth hit me. He wasn't incapable of love. He was just incapable of loving me. So tonight, I was going to broadcast his three thousand days on the big screen at our rehearsal dinner. I was walking away from this wedding, but I wasn't going to let the last eight years slip by in silence. Everyone deserved to see the truth. The screen flickered to life. It didn't show a happy couple portrait. Instead, it split down the middle. On the left side, Leah sat before a glowing birthday cake, her eyes crinkling with pure joy. Gavin’s hand reached into the frame, gently lighting the candles. His voice, softer than I had ever heard it, murmured, "Happy birthday, my sweet Leah." On the right side, a screenshot of our text exchange from that exact same night appeared. I’m at the restaurant. The food is getting cold, my message read. Below it, his brief reply: Stuck at the office. Don't wait up. A collective murmur rippled through the ballroom. The video transitioned. On the left, a snowy landscape. Leah crouched beside a snowman, her nose flushed red from the cold. Gavin laughed behind the camera. "Put your gloves back on, silly. You'll cry if your hands freeze." On the right, a screenshot from a night I was burning up with a hundred-and-three-degree fever. My text asked: Are you coming home tonight? His reply: Leah wanted to see the first snow. I'm going to hang out with her for a bit. Just take some Tylenol. The next clip rolled. On the left, a rooftop at night. Leah stood wrapped in Gavin’s favorite coat, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Gavin’s voice was a soothing balm: "I'm right here. Don't be scared." On the right, a cold, clinical photo of an ER bay. An IV stand, alongside an emergency admission form for acute upper GI bleeding. There were records of six missed calls to Gavin, followed by his single text response: Something happened to Leah. Stop making a scene. I heard Gavin’s mother gasp from the VIP table, but she recovered quickly, slamming her hands down and standing up. "Turn it off! What is this garbage?!" Nobody moved. The planner glanced at me, and when I gave her a firm nod, she let the video play on. On the left, Leah leaned her head out of a passenger-side window, letting the wind whip through her hair. On the right, my message containing photos of various wedding gowns: Which one do you think looks best? His reply: They all look the same to me. But on the left, dated that very same night, was a text he sent to Leah: You’d look incredible in a mermaid dress. It would show off your waist. The room erupted into chaos. Whispers turned into open shouting. "What is going on?" "Is this a joke?" "Who is that girl?" "I thought they’ve been together for eight years!" Right on cue, the double doors of the ballroom swung open. Gavin walked in, car keys still dangling from his hand, with Leah limping slightly behind him. She was wearing a cozy white knit dress, her hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders, her eyes rimmed with red. The second she saw the massive screen, every drop of color drained from her face. Gavin stormed up to the stage. "Audrey, what the hell are you doing?" I picked up the microphone. "Showing everyone our walk down memory lane." He lowered his voice, trying to contain his rage. "Have you lost your mind? With all these people here, you choose to humiliate us like this?" I met his gaze dead-on. "Oh, so you do care about who's watching." Leah chimed in, her voice trembling. "Audrey, please, it's my fault. I sprained my ankle, and Gavin was just being a gentleman and taking me to the hospital." "A minor soft tissue contusion," I said, looking at her ankle. "The discharge papers recommend an ice pack and rest." I tapped my phone, and her actual emergency room chart flashed onto the screen. "Gavin spent two hours holding an ice pack to your ankle while he missed his own wedding rehearsal dinner." Leah’s bottom lip quivered. Gavin scowled. "She was completely alone at the hospital, Audrey. I couldn’t just leave her." I nodded calmly. "Then go back and take care of her." I slid my engagement ring off my finger and dropped it onto the silver tray on the podium. "I’m calling it off." Gavin’s mother rushed forward, her heels clicking furiously against the floorboards. "Audrey, what nonsense is this? The invitations are out, the venue is paid for, and you want to drag our family name through the mud like this?" I looked at her with pity. "Mrs. Sinclair, your son dragged your family name through the mud all by himself. I just played the soundtrack." Her finger shook as she pointed it at me. "It is perfectly normal for a man to have a past, or someone he cares about. Bringing your petty jealousy onto the big screen shows a complete lack of class!" I let out a soft laugh. "So you knew all along." She choked on her words. "You knew he was in love with someone else, yet you still pushed for this wedding," I continued. "Did you think I was too weak to speak up, or did you think my father was someone you could easily walk over?" My father stood up from his seat, his face dark with fury. "The Sinclairs want to save face, but what about the Bennetts? Do you think my daughter is some second-rate option?" Gavin’s composure finally fractured. "Mr. Bennett, please, it's not what it looks like." My father didn’t even look at him. "Do not call me that." Gavin turned even paler. I stepped over and pulled the flash drive from the media console. Gavin let out a visible breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly, thinking the nightmare was over. I looked at him and smiled. "Why the sigh of relief, Gavin?" He froze. I pulled a second drive from my clutch. "That first part was just about how much you love her. This next part is about how she taught me to stay in my lane." Leah looked as if she might faint. "Audrey, please..." I pressed play. A voice memo began to broadcast, Leah’s soft, sweet voice echoing clearly through the speakers. "Audrey, sweetie, do you know what Gavin told me? He said you’re the perfect kind of girl to marry, because you never need to be coddled. You're just so low-maintenance." The audio ended, leaving a deafening silence in the room, save for the faint hum of the sound system. Leah stood frozen by the entrance, tears streaming down her face, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. Sending me these voice notes used to be her favorite pastime. She did it because she knew I was too proud to throw a tantrum, and too desperate to keep Gavin happy to start a fight. She thought my patience was infinite. She forgot that even the quietest volcano eventually erupts. I clicked the next file. "Audrey, stop nagging him about whether he loves you. Men hate that. Gavin says you’re so strong you can handle anything on your own. Unlike me. I’m a mess without him." The third played. "Oh, it's your birthday today? Sorry, I didn't know. But I'm having a really rough night, and Gavin said you're mature enough not to mind if he stays with me." And the fourth. "Don't be mad at him for skipping the hospital. He said you're a tough cookie. It's just a signature on a consent form, right? No need to play the victim." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father’s hands clench into tight fists. I didn't dare look directly at him. If I did, I knew my composure would shatter. When I had that severe gastric hemorrhage, the pain was so blinding I couldn't stand straight. The nurse had handed me the emergency consent forms and told me to call my family. I had called Gavin over and over. When he finally texted back, it was: Leah is having a panic attack on a rooftop. Stop adding to my stress. I had signed the papers myself, my hand shaking so violently that I had to write my name twice to make it legible. That night, I genuinely believed that if I died on the operating table, Gavin wouldn't find out until the next afternoon. And even then, his grief would be short-lived, because Leah would still be crying for his attention. A final text message screenshot appeared on the screen, sent from Leah to me: Audrey, stop playing the martyr. If he keeps choosing to come to me, it just means I need him more than you do. Gavin finally snapped out of his stupor, lunging toward the AV booth to yank the cords out. I stepped directly in his path, blocking him. "What's the matter, Gavin? Too hard to listen to?" His voice sounded gasped. "When did you get these?" "Over the years. Constantly." "Why didn't you ever tell me?" I smiled, a cold, empty sensation. "To what end? So you could tell me I was being overly sensitive again?" His face twisted in a mixture of shame and shock. Leah ran up to the stage, sobbing hysterically. "It's not what it sounds like, Gavin! I was in a really bad place back then. I didn't mean any harm, I swear!" I looked down at her. "That’s your signature move, isn’t it, Leah? You slice someone open, and then you cry first so everyone thinks you’re the victim." She shook her head desperately. "Audrey, you've got it all wrong. I was just dependent on him. I didn't have anyone else." "Dependent?" I asked. "So dependent that you memorized my birthday just to stage a dramatic breakup on that exact night?" I brought up one more screenshot on the screen. It was a calendar Leah had sent me months ago to gloat. She had color-coded Gavin’s schedule with my key dates: my birthday, my bridal fittings, our marriage license appointment, and tonight's rehearsal dinner. Next to every single one of those dates, she had written the same note: Get him to come to me. Seeing those words, Gavin turned to Leah, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Leah? You planned this?" She panicked. "No, Gavin, that's not what it means! I was just... I was just scared you'd get too busy and forget about me!" I looked at Gavin. "She was terrified you'd forget her. So, on my birthday, she gets dumped. On the night of my emergency surgery, she's on a ledge. On the day of my gown fitting, her power goes out. And tonight, at our rehearsal, she twists her ankle." I paused, letting the silence settle. "Gavin, do you honestly still believe those were all coincidences?" Gavin stared at Leah. For the first time in his life, his eyes held no warmth or protectiveness. There was only a cold, chilling sense of unfamiliarity. Leah wept harder, reaching for him. "Gavin, please, I didn't mean to. I was just so terrified you'd abandon me once you got married." Mrs. Sinclair quickly stepped between them, shielding Leah. "Enough! The girl grew up without parents. Is it really such a crime that she relies on Gavin? Audrey, you are supposed to be the bride here. Making such a childish fuss over this, aren't you embarrassed?" I looked at the older woman. "If you aren't embarrassed by your son's behavior, Mrs. Sinclair, why should I be?" I tapped my phone again, pulling up a screenshot of a text thread between Mrs. Sinclair and Leah. The keypad code to the house is Gavin's birthday, Mrs. Sinclair had written. Audrey is at work during the day, so just go in and grab whatever you need. She's passive anyway; she won't say a thing. Mrs. Sinclair’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. My father walked up to the stage, his hand settling gently but firmly on my shoulder. "Audrey, we're leaving." I nodded. "Okay, Dad." Gavin stepped forward, reaching out to stop me. "Audrey, please. Let's talk about this. Just the two of us." I stared at his hand. "Let go of me." "I swear I didn't know Leah was sending you those things," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "There is a lifetime of things you didn't know, Gavin." "Give me one chance," he whispered, his eyes pleading. "I'll fix this. I'll handle it." I looked past him to Leah. Even through her tears, her fingers were tightly wrapped around the cuff of his sleeve. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. "Gavin, you don't have to choose between us anymore." He blinked, confused. "I’m bowing out," I said quietly. "From now on, whoever wants to play her hero can go ahead and do it. I’m resigning from the job." As I reached the exit, the wedding planner came running after me, breathless. "Miss Bennett, wait! Do you want the original files from the wedding video?" I stopped. "Which files?" She hesitated, glancing back toward the ballroom. "The tribute video. The one with your late mother." I spun around. Gavin froze instantly. The planner lowered her voice to a whisper. "Miss Leah said that tribute was too depressing for a wedding, that it would ruin the mood. And Mr. Sinclair agreed. He told us to cut it." I stared at Gavin. The noise of the ballroom suddenly faded into a dull hum, as if I were underwater. A month before my mother passed away, when she was already frail and bedridden, she had asked my dad to record a video for me. In it, she said, "Audrey, my sweet girl, I might not make it to see you walk down the aisle. But my only hope is that the man you marry truly, deeply cherishes you." I had never been able to bring myself to watch that video after she died. I had kept it saved, waiting for my wedding day so that she could be there with me in some small way. And Gavin had thrown it away. Because Leah thought it was too depressing. "Is that true?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Gavin opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. "Audrey... I just thought we should keep the atmosphere light and happy on our big day." I let out a dry laugh, but the first tear finally spilled over my eyelashes. "The absolute last thing my mother left for me, and you deleted it because it didn't fit your aesthetic." His face went completely gray. "Gavin," I said, wiping the tear away. "This isn't just a cancelled wedding. You are permanently out of my life." I didn't go back to the house we bought together. I went home with my father to the house I grew up in. He didn't say a single word during the entire drive. Once inside, he slowly took off his crisp new suit jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. The fabric was still perfectly pressed, but he looked as though he had aged ten years in a single night. "Audrey," he called out softly. "Did I make a mistake trusting him so much?" I sat on the old worn sofa and shook my head. "No, Dad. I was the one who trusted him too much." My father knelt down by the coffee table and pulled out an old tin box. Inside were loose photographs of my mother and a worn, scuffed flash drive. "Your mother's video, I have another copy of it here," he said, placing the drive into my palm. "She was worried the videographer might lose it, so she made me keep a backup. She said you could be a bit forgetful sometimes, and she wanted to make sure you'd always have her voice when you missed her." My fingers closed around the warm metal drive, and my chest seized as the tears finally came pouring out. My mother always joked that I was scatterbrained, but after she passed, I had forced myself to remember every single detail for the people I loved. I knew Gavin hated cilantro, that his dress shirts had to be ironed on low heat, and that he couldn't have dairy before a big meeting. Yet Leah only had to utter a single "I don't feel well," and he would drop the world to run to her. My father patted my shoulder gently. "I'm glad you're not marrying him, sweetheart." I looked up, seeing the redness in his eyes even as he forced a smile. "My daughter deserves the world. Why should you marry into a family that treats you like an afterthought?" In that moment, I let go and sobbed like a child. The next morning, I walked into the bridal boutique. The consultant’s expression turned instantly guarded when she saw me. "Miss Bennett... are you here to pick up your gown?" "I'm canceling the order," I said, handing over my copy of the contract. "The wedding is off." The consultant was quiet for a moment before printing out the cancellation form. As I took the pen to sign, my eyes caught a line of text in the system notes: Alternative gown selected: Mermaid style, adjusted per Miss Leah's preference. My fingers froze on the pen. "Miss Leah?" The consultant hesitated, looking around before turning her monitor toward me. "Miss Bennett, this is your dress, and I honestly think you deserve to know the truth." The digital log was incredibly detailed: Miss Leah suggests changing to mermaid style. Miss Leah notes the mother's tribute video is bad luck for the ceremony and advises against it. Mr. Sinclair confirmed: Proceed with Leah's suggestions. A suffocating lump rose in my throat. On the seventeenth of last month, when I had that hundred-and-three-degree fever, I had texted Gavin begging him to come home early. He had texted back saying he was at a critical dinner with a client and couldn't leave. It turned out his "client" was Leah, picking out my wedding dress. I put my signature on the paper. As I turned to leave, the consultant said softly, "Miss Bennett, for what it's worth, you looked absolutely breathtaking in the original satin gown." I paused at the door. "Thank you." When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, Gavin was standing by the curb, clutching a thick paper bag. The moment he spotted me, he rushed over. "Audrey!" I kept walking, ignoring him, but he stepped directly into my path. "I packed up all of Leah's things," he said breathlessly. "They're out of the house. I changed the security codes, too. And I had a talk with my mother." I looked at him coldly. "And?" His throat bobbed. "Please, can we just put the wedding on hold instead of calling it off? We can postpone it. I'll plan a completely new ceremony for you." "A new ceremony?" I asked. "Are you going to bring back the footage of my mother, too?" His face paled. "Audrey, I didn't realize that clip meant so much to you." "My mother's dying blessing didn't mean much to you?" I asked, my voice flat. He had no answer. I realized then that he wasn't stupid. He just knew that my pain was quiet. And because I suffered in silence, he decided my pain could be safely ignored. Gavin held out the paper bag. "The bridal shop sent these photos over." I didn't move to take them. He opened the bag himself, pulling out a print of me from my first fitting. I was standing in front of the tri-fold mirror in that classic satin gown, my posture straight and elegant, my back to the camera. Gavin’s eyes welled with tears. "I should have stayed that day." I looked at the photograph. "Gavin, there are a thousand days you should have stayed." His hand froze in midair. "Audrey, let me make it up to you," he pleaded. I shook my head. "You can't." "Then what do you want me to do?" he whispered, desperate.
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