Rain of Betrayal

He sat on the edge of the mattress, his thumbs flying across the glowing screen of his phone.

"Boston is dropping to fifty degrees tonight. Make sure you wear a jacket," Alex muttered, tapping the send button. "Call me the second you land."

He locked the device and finally looked up. His gaze snagged on my soaked clothes, water still dripping from my hem onto the bedroom rug.

"Why haven't you showered yet?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"Did you know it rained in New York today, Alex?" I asked.

He froze. Annoyance flashed across his features, hardening his jaw. "How am I supposed to track the weather every single day?"

He tracked a city two hundred miles away, but not the one we lived in.

I turned my back to him and walked out to the living room. I dragged the garment bag off the kitchen island and unzipped the plastic. A puddle formed on the hardwood floor. I pulled the silk fabric free, spreading the heavy gown over the sofa cushions.

The lily-of-the-valley embroidery—stitched by my mother before she passed away—was ruined. The vibrant green and white threads bled into the pristine ivory silk, muddying the delicate pattern.

*Marry a man who will hold an umbrella for you, Iris.*

Her final whisper echoed in my ears, louder than the storm outside.

Alex followed me into the room. He squatted next to the sofa, inspecting the waterlogged fabric with a dismissive glance.

"Send it to a dry cleaner tomorrow," he said. "It should still be wearable."

"What if the stains don't wash out?" I asked, my fingers tracing the ruined flowers.

He stood up, already losing interest. "Then just change into another one."

He said it so casually. Like swapping a coffee cup.

Before I could reply, his phone buzzed loudly against the coffee table. He answered it on the first ring.

"Alex..." Celeste’s voice trembled through the speaker, thick with panic and tears. "My flight was diverted to Philly. There's lightning everywhere outside the terminal. I'm too scared to go out."

Alex’s face drained of color. He snatched his car keys from the console.

"Don't move," he said, his voice dropping into a soft, comforting register I hadn't heard in years. "I'm coming to get you right now."

"I'm so cold," she sobbed.

"Take out the gray cardigan. It's in the outermost layer of your suitcase. Put it on first."

My chest tightened. He knew exactly where her sweater was packed. He knew the layers of her luggage, but he didn't know I had sprinted six blocks in a torrential downpour because he told me to leave my umbrella behind.

He marched to the entryway and grabbed the only long-handled umbrella from the ceramic stand. The one I had custom-ordered for him. The handle bore our anniversary date and a Latin phrase: *I remembered.*

"Philadelphia is three hours away," I said, watching his hand wrap around the engraved wood. "You're driving there now?"

"She's terrified of thunder," he shot back, not looking at me.

He shoved his arms into his trench coat. He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"Her apartment has a roof leak. She might need to crash here for a couple of days. Clean out the study."

"This is our marital home, Alex."

"She is only staying two nights." His tone turned to ice, slicing through the quiet room. "We are getting married the day after tomorrow. Can you stop being so unreasonable at a time like this?"

The heavy door slammed shut.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watched his red taillights vanish into the blinding rain.

By four in the morning, my skin burned.

I dragged myself to the master bathroom and yanked open the medicine cabinet. My hands shook as I pushed aside bottles of vitamins and shaving cream. Empty.

"We're out of fever reducers," I had told him last Tuesday.

He had been scrolling through his weather app. He never looked up. He never bought them.

I slid down the cold wall, pulling my knees to my chest. The apartment felt like an icebox.

At seven o'clock, the front door clicked open.

Alex ushered Celeste inside. Rain soaked the entire left side of his shirt, plastering the fabric to his skin. He had tilted the wide, custom umbrella completely over her, shielding her from a single drop. She stood perfectly dry in the center of the entryway.

"Put your bags down here," Alex told her gently. He turned to me, his voice flattening instantly. "Iris, go boil some ginger soup for her."

I stood by the kitchen island, gripping the marble edge to keep my balance. "I have a fever."

Alex frowned. He closed the distance between us and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. He withdrew it a second later.

"Then take some medicine yourself," he said.

"We don't have any."

"Celeste had pneumonia as a kid," he snapped, ignoring my response. "Her health is much worse than yours. Don't compare yourself to her."

He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't ask how high my fever was. He just walked past me to take her coat.

Celeste stepped further into the living room, rubbing her arms. Her eyes scanned the space, finally landing on the ruined silk dress draped over the sofa.

She walked over. Her fingers brushed the water-stained lily-of-the-valley embroidery on the hem. A soft, nostalgic smile touched her lips, completely transforming her face.

"Alex," Celeste said, her voice dropping to a sweet, intimate whisper.

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"You actually remembered I wanted a lily-of-the-valley wedding dress."

The room went dead silent. The only sound was the rain lashing against the glass.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I thought you had long forgotten about that canceled wedding of ours."

I stared at the ruined flowers my mother had spent months sewing. The centerpiece of my gown. The symbol of my future.

It was never my dress at all.

I looked at the closed bedroom door, knowing my packed suitcase sat waiting in the dark.

"Alex," I said quietly, cutting through their shared silence. "We need to talk about the wedding."