He Burned Our Photos For His Ex

The image on my phone screen showed a familiar dashboard. Ronan's vintage Mustang. A parking pass hung from the rearview mirror. The text across the top of the pass was crystal clear.

*Oakridge Private Sanatorium.*

I tapped the call button on my screen.

"Call number two hundred and fifteen," I muttered to the empty banquet hall.

The automated voicemail greeting played again. I ended the call.

I left the venue and drove straight to our shared apartment. His daily commuter car was missing from the driveway, but the Mustang sat parked in the garage. I yanked the passenger door open. A crumpled yellow receipt rested on the leather seat.

I smoothed the paper out.

*Patient: Sylvia Monroe. Cardiac Emergency. Date: Today.*

My stomach twisted into a hard knot.

I sped through the night. The rain started just as I pulled into the sanatorium parking lot.

I found Room 412 on the second floor. The door stood wide open.

I stopped in the doorway.

Ronan sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He held a small plastic spoon. He blew on the soup, then gently placed it into Sylvia’s mouth.

She smiled weakly. He pulled a tissue from the nightstand and carefully wiped the corner of her lips.

"Ronan," I said.

His head snapped up. The spoon clattered into the plastic bowl.

"Celeste." He stood up, blocking my view of Sylvia. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Keep your voice down," he hissed. "This is a cardiac ward."

I stepped into the room. My wedding dress dragged across the sterile floor. "You left me at the altar."

"Sylvia had a severe heart attack," he said, his jaw tight. "I had to come."

"You couldn't send a text? You couldn't make one phone call?"

"I was trying to save her life!"

"By turning off your phone? By ignoring two hundred calls from your bride?"

"The doctors needed my full attention. She was coding, Celeste!"

"And now she is eating soup," I shot back.

"She stabilized an hour ago. I was going to call you when she fell asleep."

"An hour ago? The reception is over. The guests are gone. My father is ready to destroy your company."

"Your father?" Ronan scoffed. "He always hated me. He probably loved watching this happen."

"He watched his daughter stand alone at the altar!"

"Stop making this about your ego."

I reached into my purse. My fingers trembled as I pulled out the velvet box. I snapped it open. The diamond caught the harsh overhead lights.

"I stood in front of three hundred people," I said, my voice rising. "I humiliated myself. I defended you. And you were here, feeding her."

"Money!" Ronan shouted. "That is all you care about! Sylvia almost died today, and you are crying over catering costs!"

"She is your ex-girlfriend, Ronan!"

"She has a heart condition because of me!" he yelled, stepping closer. "She took the brunt of a car crash when we were kids to protect me. Her heart never fully recovered."

"And that means you abandon your bride?"

"It means I show up for the people who need me!" he shot back. "She was completely alone today. And you know why? Because you demanded all my time. You isolated me with your constant wedding demands."

"I demanded your time? We are getting married!"

"You pushed her out of our lives! If I hadn't checked my voicemail, she would have died alone on her kitchen floor. Her attack today is your fault."

I stared at him. The man I spent three years loving looked like a complete stranger.

"My fault," I repeated, the words tasting like ash.

"Yes! You told me to stop answering her late-night calls. You told me to set boundaries. This is what your boundaries did!"

From the bed, Sylvia let out a weak, raspy gasp.

"Ronan," she whimpered, clutching the fabric of her gown over her chest. "It hurts."

He spun around and rushed to her side. "I'm right here. Breathe."

"Don't fight with her," Sylvia cried, forcing a tear down her pale cheek. "I ruined your special day. I should have just let the attack take me."

"Don't say that," Ronan said softly. He stroked her hair.

He turned his head and glared at me. His eyes were cold.

"Look what you are doing to her," he snarled.

"She is faking it," I said. "Her monitors haven't changed."

"You are a monster," he said. He reached for the call button on the wall and slammed his fist against it. "Security!"

"You are calling security on your fiancée?"

"You are a threat to my patient's recovery," he said.

Two large guards in gray uniforms rushed into the room.

"Get this woman out of here," Ronan ordered. "She is trespassing."

"I am leaving," I said, holding my chin high.

"Make sure she leaves the property," Ronan added.

One of the guards grabbed my upper arm. His grip was bruising.

"Take your hands off me," I snapped, trying to jerk away.

The second guard grabbed my other arm. They hauled me backward.

"Ronan!" I shouted, struggling against their weight.

He didn't even look back. He just kept stroking Sylvia's hair.

The guards dragged me down the corridor. My shoes scraped clumsily against the linoleum. We reached the front lobby.

"Keep moving," the taller guard grunted.

They shoved me through the sliding glass doors.

I stumbled on the wet pavement. My ankle twisted. My left shoe slipped off and skidded into a muddy puddle.

"Do not come back," the guard warned. The doors slid shut behind them.

The rain poured down in heavy, freezing sheets. The icy drops soaked right through my tulle dress, pasting the cheap fabric to my skin. The cold wind bit into my bare shoulders.

I reached down and yanked my right shoe off. I threw it at the glass doors. It bounced off with a dull thud.

"Coward," I whispered to the empty parking lot.

I stood barefoot on the rough asphalt. The cold seeped into the soles of my feet, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my chest.

I pulled my phone from my clutch. The screen was cracked from the fall, but it still turned on.

I opened a ride-share app. The surge pricing flashed on the screen due to the storm.

*Estimated Fare: $125.00.*

I switched to my banking app.

*Available Balance: $14.50.*

I could call my father. One word, and a fleet of cars would arrive to pick me up. But calling him meant admitting total defeat. It meant unleashing his wrath on Ronan before I even understood what I wanted to do about this betrayal.

I closed my eyes. The rain mixed with the tears I swore I wouldn't shed. I had given up my family's immense wealth to protect his pride. I had lived on a meager budget, clipped coupons, and taken the bus just to make him feel like the man of the house.

Now, I couldn't even afford to escape the rain.

I shoved the phone back into my bag. I started walking down the dark, unlit road.

Headlights cut through the storm behind me.

A sleek, black Maybach pulled up slowly alongside me. The tires hissed against the wet asphalt.

The rear window rolled down.

"Get in," a deep, unfamiliar voice commanded.