He Ditched Me 52 Times

I dated my lawyer boyfriend for five years. He canceled our wedding. Fifty-two times.

First time? His intern messed up some paperwork. He ditched me at the beach to fix it. I waited all day. Alone.

Second time, we were mid-ceremony when he bolted. Heard that intern was getting heat from another lawyer and left me to face the guests and their stares.

After that, every time we tried again, there was always some "emergency" with her. Always.

I finally hit my limit. I was done. Packed up and broke it off.

But the day I left Ainsley? He totally lost it trying to find me.

Today was wedding attempt number fifty-two with Owen Tadder. No big crowd this time—just our families.

I dragged myself through a fever to check the setup with the wedding director. Owen didn't even look at me.

He was in the groom's room, giving Vanessa Fondler, his intern, a full-on ankle massage. She'd shown up limping like always.

My parents just shook their heads.

"Really? Again? Has he ever cared about you?"

Everyone knew how badly I wanted this to finally happen.

But right before the ceremony, he bailed. Again.

I chased after him, but he blocked me.

"Vanessa's leg's still bad. I gotta take her to the hospital. Let's postpone. Next time, I swear."

Then he turned and helped her into the car.

Five years together. Fifty-two canceled weddings. Always because of her.

I used to scream, demand answers, beg him to stay.

This time, I smiled. "It's fine. Vanessa probably can't wait."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Cool. I'll bring that strawberry cake you love tonight."

I nodded. He shut the window, drove off.

My smile dropped.

I hate strawberries. I hate cake. He knows that.

I told him the first time he brought it—forced down a bite so he wouldn't feel bad, then admitted I couldn't stand it. He even typed it into his notes, promised he'd remember.

One year later—yeah, right.

The sun was brutal, but my heart? Ice.

I laughed once, walked back in, called it off.

Then I ripped up the dress I'd worn fifty-two freaking times.

Time to shred those five years, too.