After His Mistress Attacked Me, He Defended Her

The seamstress pulled the corset strings tight. The white silk hugged my ribs. I looked in the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. I didn't see a bride. I saw a ghost wrapped in expensive tulle.

"It fits perfectly, Miss Simpson," the seamstress smiled. She adjusted the delicate lace on my shoulders.

I stared blankly at my reflection. I should have felt excited. I should have felt bubbles in my chest. Instead, I felt absolutely nothing. My phone sat on the velvet chair behind me. The hidden folder inside it felt heavier than the gown. The image of Catalina in black lace, with Eddie asleep behind her, was burned into my retinas.

My father, Arthur, would have bought me this entire boutique if I asked. He commanded battalions. He had limitless resources. But I had kept all of that hidden. I wanted to be a normal bride for the man I loved. I had spent ten years shrinking myself so Eddie could feel big.

I didn't cry. I didn't shake. The ten years of love I had for Eddie were gone. They died at two in the morning when I saved that photo. Now, I just needed to bury the remains.

"Should we wait for your fiancé?" the seamstress asked gently. "He is an hour late."

"No," I said quietly. "Take it off, please."

Just as she unhooked the first button, the boutique door chimed. Eddie walked in. He was sixty-five minutes late. His hair was messy. His jaw was tight. He didn't look breathless from running. He looked irritated.

"Traffic was a nightmare," he muttered. He didn't apologize. He didn't even look at the dress. He just slumped into the velvet chair next to my purse.

"It's fine," I said flatly.

He looked up at my tone. He frowned and stood up. He walked over to me. "You look nice," he offered lazily. He leaned in to kiss my cheek.

I didn't step back, but I turned my head slightly. His lips brushed my jaw. And then the smell hit me.

It was heavy. Floral. Sickly sweet. It was Catalina’s signature perfume. The exact same scent that hung in my bathroom like toxic gas. It clung to his shirt collar. It was woven into the fabric of his jacket. It was the smell of my own guest bedroom being used to mock me.

My stomach didn't drop. My chest didn't ache. My spine just turned to steel.

"Let me change," I said. My voice was eerily calm. "We're going to the restaurant on 5th Avenue. We need to talk."

Eddie sighed loudly. "Can we just eat? I have a headache."

"We will eat," I replied. "And we will talk."

Twenty minutes later, we were in his car. The sky outside was a dull, bruised purple. A light drizzle began to fall. The wipers scraped harshly against the glass. The leather seats felt cold. The silence between us was thick and suffocating. I kept my eyes on the passing streetlights. I was mentally rehearsing the end of our relationship. No yelling. No tears. Just a clean, sharp cut.

Then, his phone rang.

The harsh ringtone shattered the quiet. The screen on the dashboard mount lit up. The name *Baby* flashed in bright white letters.

Eddie cursed under his breath. He aggressively tapped the screen and put it on speakerphone.

"Cat, I told you I'm busy right now," he snapped. He sounded annoyed, but there was no real bite to his words.

"You left without saying goodbye," Catalina's breathy, trembling voice filled the enclosed car. "I woke up and you were just gone, Eddie. My chest hurts. I can't breathe. The walls are closing in."

"I had to go to Regina's fitting," he said. He gripped the steering wheel tight. His knuckles turned white. He didn't even glance at me.

"You promised you'd stay until my therapist called," she whimpered. A soft, theatrical sob echoed through the speakers. "I'm looking at the pill bottle, Eddie. I just feel so empty."

"Cat, stop it. Don't touch the pills." His voice shifted instantly. The annoyance vanished. The gentle, coaxing tone returned. The same tone he used in my hallway. The same tone he used in the dark last night. "Just put the bottle down. Breathe for me, okay?"

"I need you," she cried. "She doesn't need you like I do. She's so cold to you."

Eddie's jaw clenched. "Cat, you're on speaker."

There was a sharp gasp on the other end. Then, silence. But she didn't hang up. She was waiting. She wanted to hear my reaction. She wanted me to scream at him. She wanted a fight to prove I was the unstable one.

I didn't give it to her.

I sat perfectly still in the passenger seat. I looked at Eddie's panicked profile. I smelled her perfume radiating from his clothes. I listened to his desperate, enabling breaths.

"Regina, I'm sorry," Eddie stammered, finally looking at me. "She's just having an episode. You know how her depression gets."

"Keep driving," I said softly. I didn't look at him. I just stared straight ahead at the dark, wet road. "The reservation is at seven."

Eddie swallowed hard. He turned his eyes back to the road. He kept the phone connected. For the next ten minutes, the only sounds in the car were the rhythmic scrape of the wipers and Catalina's soft, deliberate breathing through the speaker.

I let her listen. I let him sweat. I was watching a dead man drive. And I was finally ready to walk away.