The Don’s Last Regret

Two seconds of silence on the line. Then Ivy's nasal, sleepy voice: "Charles, my chest still feels tight..."

Charles's voice dropped low. "Serena, Ivy just recovered from her heart episode. She has a bad heart. She can't be left alone."

I curled on the carpet, the pain twisting like a knife in my gut. "I'm really in pain."

Another pause. Ivy whispered, "Charles, maybe you should go check on her..."

He cut her off. "Don't push yourself."

Then back to me: "Don't overthink it. Heart problems are dangerous. It's just a stomach ache. I'll call an ambulance for you right now."

He hung up.

I looked at the closed master bedroom door. From the living room to the stairs, only a dozen steps. But he wouldn't take them.

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. He still didn't come down.

I dragged myself along the wall, inch by inch, to the entrance.

The paramedics saw my pale face and rushed to help me.

The next time I opened my eyes, it was still dark outside. The smell of antiseptic filled my nose. A needle was taped to the back of my hand, cold fluid dripping slowly into my vein.

Charles walked in. Ivy followed.

She wore a white mini dress, his suit jacket draped over her shoulders. The ruby at her throat gleamed under the hospital lights.

Charles saw I was awake and seemed relieved. He came to the bedside and adjusted my IV bag, but he didn't speak.

I looked at him. The leftover pain in my stomach still throbbed.

But I felt strangely calm.

"Charles," I said. "I'm really looking forward to the surprise I prepared for you at the wedding."

"What surprise?" He looked at me with a flicker of anticipation, an expression I hadn't seen in a long time.

When we first started dating, I made him a birthday cake. The frosting was a mess. But he held it and stared at it for a long time. He said, "Serena, anything you make for me, I love."

Back then, he really did see me.

I wasn't wrong about him then. He just changed.

Now, as I watched that rare glimmer of hope in his eyes, I started to speak.

Ivy leaned in. "What surprise? Serena, did you prepare a gift too?"

I didn't answer.

The nurse came to remove my IV. A bead of blood welled up where the needle came out. Charles glanced at it. For a second, something almost like remorse crossed his face.

"The wedding is about to start. Get some rest."

The door closed.

I peeled off the medical tape.

Half an hour later, I was back at the villa.

The bluebell fragrance hit me first, cloying, thick.

The welcome gifts and bouquet from the wedding planner sat in the living room. Champagne-colored ribbons draped down the staircase. Every detail was Ivy's taste.

I dragged my suitcase upstairs. The master bedroom door was ajar.

No Charles. No Ivy. Wherever he had gone to "rest," it wasn't here.

Ivy's shawl lay on the bed. Her lipstick and earrings were scattered across the vanity.

My wedding room. Like a hotel she had lived in for years.

I didn't look again.

I opened the drawer and took out the wedding ring Charles had given me. A thin band. He had said, "A wedding ring is just a formality. No need to be flashy."

Ivy's ruby necklace could have bought fifty of these rings.

I set the ring next to the diamond bracelet gift.

Then I placed the villa keys, the access card, and the wedding itinerary on the coffee table.

Finally, I picked up the invitation card. The bride's name had already been changed to Ivy Sterling.

I took a black pen and wrote one line in the blank space: "Wishing you both a happy wedding."

I clicked the pen shut. The sound was soft, like a lock turning.

My phone buzzed. A message from Charles.

I didn't read it. I blocked him.

At the door, I looked back one last time. This house had never really been mine.

At the airport, check-in, security, everything went smoothly.

I turned off my phone. Cut off the past.