Wedding Over Wife's Life

"Jackson, the photographer wants to discuss the bouquet positioning," my assistant calls from across the bridal suite, but I'm already distracted by Ophelia's reflection in the ornate mirror.

She looks ethereal in the afternoon light, even with the toll the chemotherapy has taken. Her wedding dress, a vintage ivory silk we found at that boutique in the city, drapes perfectly over her diminished frame. The headpiece catches the light filtering through the hotel windows, and for a moment, I forget about everything else—the stress of the preparations, the guilt gnawing at my conscience about leaving Elizabeth and Dakota to fend for themselves today.

"You look beautiful," I murmur, adjusting the delicate lace at her shoulder. "Are you feeling alright? We can postpone if you need to rest."

Ophelia's smile is radiant despite her pallor. "I've been waiting for this day since we were children, Jackson. A little weakness isn't going to stop me now." Her fingers find mine, cold but steady. "Besides, we don't know how much time I have left. I want to be your wife while I still can."

The words hit me like a physical blow, as they always do. Terminal cancer. Stage four. The doctors had been brutally honest about her prognosis—months, maybe a year if she's lucky. Every day with her feels borrowed, precious beyond measure.

My phone buzzes insistently against my chest, vibrating through my jacket pocket. I glance at the screen—Elizabeth's name flashing in bold letters. I silence it immediately, sliding the device back into my pocket without a second thought.

"Everything okay?" Ophelia asks, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

"Just work stuff," I lie smoothly, focusing on the clasp of her necklace. "Nothing that can't wait."

But the phone starts buzzing again almost immediately, the persistent vibration impossible to ignore. This time I pull it out with visible irritation, Elizabeth's name glowing accusingly on the screen.

"I should take this," I mutter, already dreading whatever domestic crisis she's manufactured now. Elizabeth has been increasingly needy lately, calling at the most inconvenient times, demanding attention I simply don't have to give. Not when Ophelia needs me, not when every moment with her is precious.

I swipe to answer, my voice clipped and impatient. "Elizabeth, I'm busy. Can this wait?"

"Jackson, thank God—" Her voice is strange, higher pitched than usual, with an edge that makes me frown. "Jackson, you need to listen to me. We're at the mall and there are men with guns—"

"Are you serious right now?" I cut her off, my irritation flaring into anger. "Today? Of all days, you choose today to pull one of your dramatic stunts?"

"This isn't a stunt!" The desperation in her voice is almost convincing, but I've heard Elizabeth's theatrics before. "There are gunmen here, they have us trapped in the jewelry store, and they're asking for you specifically—"

"Elizabeth, stop." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper as Ophelia turns in her chair, concern creasing her delicate features. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm not falling for it. Not today. Today is about Ophelia, about giving her the wedding she deserves before—"

"Jackson, please, you have to believe me—" Her voice cracks, and I can hear what sounds like shouting in the background, but it could be anything. Mall noise, a movie, some elaborate production she's staged. "They want you here in an hour or they're going to hurt Dakota—"

"Enough!" The word explodes from me, and Ophelia flinches at the volume. I lower my voice, but the fury remains. "I'm done with your jealousy, Elizabeth. I'm done with your attempts to sabotage the one good thing in my life. Ophelia is dying, do you understand that? She's dying, and all you can think about is yourself."

"Jackson—" The desperation in her voice almost sounds real, but I've fallen for her manipulations before.

"No. I'm hanging up now, and I'm turning off my phone. When you're ready to act like an adult instead of a spoiled child, we can talk. But not today. Today belongs to Ophelia."

I end the call with a sharp jab of my finger, immediately switching the phone to silent mode. The screen goes dark, Elizabeth's name disappearing as if it never existed.

"Is everything alright?" Ophelia's voice is soft, concerned, and I turn back to her with what I hope is a reassuring smile.

"Everything's perfect," I say, slipping the phone into my jacket pocket and pushing thoughts of Elizabeth's call from my mind. "Just Elizabeth being Elizabeth. Nothing that should concern you on your wedding day."

Ophelia nods, though worry still shadows her eyes. "Maybe you should—"

"No." I take her hands in mine, feeling how fragile her fingers have become. "Today is about us. About the life we're going to build together, however long we have. Elizabeth can wait."

As I lean down to kiss her forehead, I have no idea that twenty miles away, my wife is staring at her silent phone with tears streaming down her face, while men with guns pace behind her and my daughter whimpers in terror.