The two of them, ten years younger, innocent and sweet, holding hands.

As the cab door closed, tears streamed down my face.

I’d heard about the power of the "one that got away," but I scoffed.

I believed that sincerity could win.

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Greg's phone buzzed a few times on the way home. It was Chelsea, texting to see if he got home okay.

I unlocked his phone to reply.

Then, I saw his messages with a friend.

[This fake wedding is my last chance. If she doesn’t come back, I’m giving up.]

[Post about my wedding in the class group chat. Don’t say anything else.]

My finger froze on the screen.

My breath hitched.

It felt like no matter how hard I tried to breathe, no air could reach my lungs.

More tears flowed.

He proposed three days ago.

No ring, no wedding venue, no dowry.

Just, "Don’t tell your family."

I thought he felt guilty for not giving me a proper proposal, that my devotion had finally touched him.

But the wedding I’d dreamed of for eight years was just a way to make Chelsea jealous.

My last shred of hope for this relationship died.

I told myself:

I’d decided to leave. Their lives had nothing to do with me anymore.

At home, Greg was more sober. He went straight to the bathroom to wash up.

I made him the honey water like Chelsea said.

I didn’t want to have any regrets with our last three days together.

Just as I sat down, my boss called to discuss handing off my work before I left.

As soon as I hung up, Greg snapped, “Leaving? Where are you going?”

He was toweling his hair dry, looking at me blankly.

I gave him the honey water. “Nowhere important. Just a business trip.”

He didn’t think, or maybe he just didn’t care.

He took the cup and was about to drink when he noticed the honey.

He frowned.

He snapped, “Who told you to do this?”

“Don’t just believe everything on the internet! Online stuff doesn’t work for everyone!”

He slammed the cup on the table and stormed off to the bedroom.

I smiled bitterly.

I was right. I couldn’t imitate his ex.

The next day was supposed to be our wedding photo shoot.

Greg woke up acting like nothing had happened, his attitude as cold as ever.

But I knew what he was doing.

As we were leaving, he glanced at his phone.

Then, suddenly, he said, “Don’t take wedding pictures at the park. Let’s go to my old high school. It's trendy.”

I paused as I was putting away dishes.

“Okay, whatever you want.”

I knew why he changed his mind.

Because Chelsea posted a picture of herself visiting our old high school on her social media.

I didn’t call him out on his lie. I didn’t want to make things difficult as the relationship was ending.

I’d give us both a little dignity.

I knew what was coming, so I chose a wedding dress that was easy to walk in.

The photographer took us to the sports field. Greg scanned the area and finally saw a familiar figure under a tree.

Without a word to me, he turned and went to Chelsea.

I gave the confused photographer an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for wasting your time. We’ll pay you anyway.”

Even in my comfy wedding dress, it was hard to walk on the sports field in heels.

I finally reached Greg. He was animatedly chatting with Chelsea.

He threw his jacket on the ground.

When he saw me, he frowned.

He didn’t want me to reveal our relationship in front of Chelsea.

He said quickly:

“What are you doing here? I’m just talking to my friend.”

I blinked, forcing a smile.

“Something came up at work. I have to go back. I didn’t bring my phone with me in the dress, so I came to tell you.”

He looked shocked.

I used to make a scene. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to be in his way.