The Wedding I Designed to Die For

That's when I learned that Isabella had rejected all ten revised plans.

I was exhausted, physically and mentally.

All I could do was tell him what the doctor said.

"I went to the hospital yesterday. The doctor told me I need to rest."

His tone softened. He walked over and pulled me into his arms.

As if he’d finally remembered that I was the one who was supposed to be his fiancée.

"It's all my fault. I've been so busy lately, I haven't been taking care of you."

"Baby, for me, just help me this one last time, okay? After this wedding is over, I'll take you to Sicily for a vacation."

Tears pricked my eyes.

How many times had I begged him to take me away, only to be shut down by that same excuse? "Family business."

The dull ache in my chest started again.

He noticed, and gently laid me down on the bed.

He placed a warm compress on my chest and started to massage it gently, his face full of concern.

It's easy to give in when you feel weak.

I remembered how it was when he was courting me.

He would kneel on one knee under a sky full of fireworks, offering me 999 roses, and swear he would only ever marry me.

A man who had never set foot in a kitchen would prepare elaborate dinners for me in our apartment.

A warmth spread from my chest. I sighed and agreed.

A smile broke across his face—the first genuine one I'd seen in a long time.

For the next three days, he barely left my side.

It was like we were back in the beginning.

But Isabella showed no interest in any of the new plans I sent her.

A week later, she contacted me and said she'd finally found what she wanted.

She sent me a series of pictures.

The more I looked, the more familiar they seemed.

This was the wedding I had designed for myself.

The plan I had saved secretly in a private folder. The plan Marco had never even bothered to look at.

The dress, the venue, the European style of the church…

Worried about a leak, I rushed to the studio.

When I got to the door, I saw Marco was there, too.

He saw me and told me excitedly that they had finally settled on a plan.

I couldn't smile.

My face was blank as I asked him where he got the pictures.

“You left your laptop open last night when you were in the shower. I saw it. It’s an exceptional plan, so I sent it to Isabella right away. Turns out she loves it—it’s the only one she wants. Why were you hiding something this good?”

I bit down on my lip, hard, fighting the urge to scream.

Those designs… they were the most romantic dream I had spent a decade crafting for myself. And he, just because he thought it was “nice,” had forwarded it to another woman.

I had to explain to my team that this was my personal plan, not for sale.

My colleagues were all praising the design, but Isabella just looked heartbroken.

Her eyes were red as she forced a smile. "Oh, I see… Well, I wouldn't want to take something so personal. I'll be sure to come to your wedding to congratulate you. After all, this plan is just so perfect!"

The envy and regret in her voice were impossible to miss.

Marco, who had been silent the whole time, stared at me after she said that.

He didn't hesitate, his voice laced with that familiar, casual entitlement.

"Sophia... just give her this one."

He saw the shock on my face and frowned slightly.

"Our wedding can wait. Once I get my family affairs in order, I promise I'll give you something even bigger. It's just a plan, Sophia. It's what you do. Giving it to a client should be easy, right?"

The room fell silent.

My colleagues' eyes darted between Marco and me, their faces a mixture of shock and pity.

The truth was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

In his heart, I had become the second choice, someone who had to step aside for another.

I turned my head away, blinking back tears.

Then I looked at the man who once swore he'd always put me first.

And I smiled.

"Okay."

Fighting to hold back a sob, I stumbled towards an empty corner of the room.

The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, and a searing pain ripped through my chest.

I sent a text to my boss, saying I had an emergency and had to leave.

Back in my car, I remembered the doctor's orders, patting my chest and whispering to myself.

"Don't cry, Sophia… The doctor said you have to stay positive…"

My breathing slowly returned to normal. I wiped my tears.

A bitter thought surfaced. God has a sick sense of humor.

I picked up the folder from the passenger seat.

My eyes scanned the single sheet of paper inside, the words blurring together until only two remained, branded into my mind:

Terminal Breast Cancer.

I closed my eyes.

I don’t understand why it’s this disease. And I don’t understand why it’s me.

Maybe this was just how it had to be.

My fingers trembled as I typed a single line into my phone and hit send.

"Marco, we're done."