“Tomorrow I’ll marry you. Tonight, I’m sleeping with Alex.”
Lauren said it so calmly that, for one stunned second, I wondered if I had misunderstood her.
Maybe I had missed a word.
Maybe she had said something else that only sounded impossible.
Then she looked directly into my eyes.
“I’m spending one last night with him before we get married,” she continued. “Tomorrow I’m yours, so you should be satisfied with that. Try to be a little more generous.”
I said nothing.
Not because I had not heard her.
Because I had heard every word.
There was no shame in her face.
No trembling apology.
No hesitation.
No sign that she understood she had just taken the five years we had spent building a life together and placed them underneath one sentence.
She spoke as if this had already been decided.
As if the only question remaining was whether I would make the evening unpleasant by objecting.
Alex.
Her ex.
The man she had spent our entire relationship describing as ancient history.
“He means nothing to me.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“That chapter is closed.”
“If I wanted Alex, I would still be with Alex.”
I had believed all of it.
Now, less than twenty-four hours before Lauren was supposed to stand beside me in front of one hundred and twelve guests, exchange vows, put a ring on my hand, and promise me forever, she wanted one final night with the person I had supposedly never needed to think about.
She watched me.
I could see her waiting for the reaction she had prepared herself to handle.
Anger.
Shouting.
Maybe tears.
Maybe I would remind her that my parents had flown in from Denver.
That my sister had spent three months helping with the wedding.
That her mother had personally arranged the flowers.
That the reception hall had already been decorated.
That our honeymoon flight to Maui left forty-eight hours later.
Maybe she expected me to list every reason she should reconsider.
Maybe she expected me to fight for my own wedding.
Instead, I nodded.
“Okay.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I stood from the edge of the bed.
My jacket was hanging over the desk chair.
I picked it up.
Lauren’s expression changed for the first time.
Not fear.
Irritation.
“Ethan.”
I put on the jacket.
She followed me into the living room.
“You’re seriously just going to walk out?”
“Yes.”
“Can you not do this?”
That almost made me laugh.
I turned toward her.
“Do what?”
“This whole quiet punishment thing.”
I stared at her.
She crossed her arms.
“I’m being honest with you.”
I remember that sentence more clearly than almost anything else.
I’m being honest with you.
As if betrayal became honorable if you announced it before leaving.
Lauren continued.
“I could have lied.”
I nodded.
“You could have.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No.”
“So that should matter.”
“It does.”
She seemed relieved.
She misunderstood what I meant.
She thought her honesty counted in her favor.
To me, it only proved she knew exactly what she was doing.
She was not drunk.
She had not made a terrible impulsive mistake and confessed afterward.
She had planned this.
Thought about it.
Decided it was acceptable.
Then informed me.
Lauren stepped closer.
“Ethan, it’s one night.”
I looked at her.
“One night.”
“Yes.”
“With Alex.”
“Yes.”
“The night before our wedding.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
“You’re making it sound uglier than it is.”
That was the moment something inside me became strangely calm.
Not healed.
Not numb.
Clear.
I had spent years thinking the worst possible thing Lauren could do would be cheating on me.
I had been wrong.
The worst thing was watching her stand in front of me and explain that cheating on me was reasonable.
She was not asking forgiveness.
She was asking permission.
And worse, she believed I owed it to her.
I opened the apartment door.