The day started like any other, with the mundane glow of morning light filtering through my blinds. It was meant to be just another day of ticking off tasks and counting down the last eight weeks to our wedding, a day like any other until it wasn’t.

I needed to make the final decision on the flowers and I was going to our local florist at noon to make sure I was happy with the mock-ups.

On one hand, I felt like everything was going just fine. But on the other, I was a little nervous that Chris wasn’t taking any of the wedding planning seriously.

He agreed to everything I wanted and barely gave his own input like he just wasn’t taking anything seriously.

I didn’t know how to feel about it, but I also knew that I was being sensitive about everything. I just wanted to have the perfect day.

“Talk to him, Haley,” my best friend, Claudia, said when I confessed my feelings during a beach day. “Tell him why his input means so much to you.”

And I wanted to. I wanted to tell Chris that despite all odds, we were getting married. I was only 23, and my parents had been against the wedding from the beginning.

“Come on, Haley,” my mother said. “What’s the rush? You’re still so young, and there’s an entire world for you to discover before settling down.”

“I love him,” I said, believing that it would be enough.

“I’ll support you because you’re my daughter and I want you to be happy, but please, do not mistake my support for my blessing.”

I nodded at her. I knew that eventually, my mother would come around—she always did.

But my father, on the other hand, refused to entertain the topic at all.

“I don’t have anything to say about this, Haley,” he said. “You are too young. And who is this boy? Chris is a few years older than you, but he’s still getting into his career. Can he support you?”

That had been almost a year ago. Since then, my parents seemed to thaw. They accepted Chris, but they were still uncertain about our marriage.

I made myself some coffee and settled down into my home office, ready to tackle the day before heading to the florist.

I glanced at the framed photo of Chris and me in Paris, a trip that now felt like a lifetime ago.

With a sigh, I picked up my phone, the screen lighting up with his smiling face as my background. I needed to ask him which flowers he preferred, his preferences for the reception menu, and another call I needed to make during the day.

So, I tapped FaceTime, expecting another quick check-in, as had become our routine.

The call connected, and there was Chris, sunglasses donned, sitting comfortably in his car with music playing in the background.

“Hey, babe,” he said, sounding casual as he put a mint into his mouth. “I’m just driving to meet with the guys, is this urgent or can I call you back?”

Before I could muster a reply, my eyes snagged on something odd. The glint of sunlight off his glasses should’ve shown the road, maybe the gray interior of his car.

But that’s not what I saw.

Instead, there were the unmistakable lines of a pair of legs, propped casually on his dashboard. Woman’s legs, barefoot, carefree. A gold anklet glittering in the sunlight.

My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I completely forgot about everything else.

“No, it’s nothing urgent,” I managed, my voice a whisper of its usual self.

Frantically, I took a screenshot of the last image before Chris dropped the call.

The call ended, but my pulse raced, thunderous and accusing, in my ears.

My fingers shook as I studied it, the damning evidence of betrayal was so blatant yet so unbelievable. I sent it to Claudia, needing another set of eyes.

“Am I seeing this right?” I texted, the screenshot flying through the digital space between us.

Her response was swift—she called me immediately.

“Those are definitely woman’s legs,” she said. “What the hell is he doing?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Now what?”

“Check his location, see where he is. Go and see what he’s up to. I can meet you there if you want.”

I opened Chris’s location on my phone. There it was—a little blinking dot moving steadily along the highway. Not long after, it settled at a local restaurant bar, a popular hangout for our group of friends.

I didn’t think. I couldn’t.

Here I was, planning our wedding and Chris was out with a woman. If he was with any of our friends, he would have mentioned it on the phone and she would have most likely jumped into the frame and greeted me.

No, this was someone new.

This was a different woman who my fiancé was spending time with.

With robotic motions, I stood in front of my closet, trying to pull something to change into. My mind was swirling in disbelief and fury.

Driving to the bar felt surreal, each mile a step deeper into a nightmare.

I didn’t know what I would find, but I knew that whatever Chris was up to would break my heart.

I drove with the radio blasting music—I needed to silence my mind.

The restaurant was buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. And of course, I found Chris there.

He was seated at a table laughing with a woman. It had to have been the same woman from the car because she had a little gold anklet on. Her hand was on his arm, and he smiled at her in a way that he used to smile at me.

I thought about sitting down at a table and observing them. The delusional part of my mind wanted to believe that maybe I had gotten it wrong. But the rational and sane part told me that the scene was exactly what I thought it was.

Sitting and watching wasn’t going to do anything other than make me nervous.

My engagement ring—once a symbol of promises and future dreams—felt like a shackle. With a deliberate calmness, I slid it off my finger.

I bought a glass of champagne at the bar, my hands steadier than I felt inside. As I approached their table, Chris looked up, his smile faltering into confusion.

“Haley, what—”

But his words were cut short as I threw the champagne in his face. The ring followed, landing with a clink against his glass on the table.

“You can choke on your proposal,” I hissed, the words acid on my tongue. “Since it clearly meant nothing to you.”

The woman beside him gasped, but I didn’t bother giving her any attention. I turned and walked out, the murmur of the crowd parting like the sea around me.

I drove straight to the florist, making it in time for our appointment, and canceled the entire order. Then, I drove straight to my parents’ house.

“Hi, honey,” my mother said, opening the door moments after I rang the doorbell.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, wrapping my arms around her in a hug.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

My mother made us some tea and brought out cookies and ice cream—the usual remedy in our home.

“So, that’s it?” she asked.

I nodded.

“You can say it, you know,” I said.

“What?” she smiled.

“That you told me so,” I said.

But she didn’t. Instead, she hugged me and packed a bag to come over and stay with me for a little while. I still lived alone—only wanting Chris to move in after we had gotten married.

“I’ll take care of you while you figure it out,” my mother said.

I went back to my apartment alone—my mother was going to join me later, after telling my father about the recent turn of events when he got home.

So, now I’m sitting in bed and eating a bowl of ice cream because I don’t know what else to do.