Long pause.
“Lauren had mentioned being confused about Alex.”
My stomach dropped.
“When?”
“About two weeks before the wedding.”
“What did she say?”
Jenna hesitated.
“That seeing him again brought back feelings.”
“Did she say she was going to sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Did she say she was thinking about it?”
“No.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That she needed to figure it out before marrying you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Anyone else know?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer changed my understanding again.
Lauren’s decision had not emerged suddenly.
She had been wrestling with it while I was choosing table assignments.
Jenna apologized again.
I told her she had nothing to apologize for.
She was not responsible for Lauren.
Still, learning that other people had seen pieces of the crisis before I did made me feel foolish.
That was one of the hardest emotions.
Not heartbreak.
Humiliation.
I kept asking myself what I had missed.
Were there signs?
Had I been too trusting?
Too passive?
Should I have objected more strongly when Alex returned?
Should I have demanded she stop speaking to him?
My therapist, Dr. Michael Reyes, eventually stopped me during one session.
“Suppose you had demanded she block him.”
I shrugged.
“Maybe none of this happens.”
“Maybe.”
He leaned back.
“Would that mean you had a trustworthy partner?”
I stared.
“No.”
“It would mean you successfully prevented one opportunity.”
That sentence helped.
I did not want fidelity that existed only because I had built enough fences around Lauren.
I wanted someone who did not need the fence.
Lauren contacted me repeatedly during the first three months.
At first, long messages.
Apologies.
Explanations.
Memories.
Photographs.
She sent one photograph of us hiking in Colorado two years earlier.
Caption:
We were real.
I replied:
I know.
That was all.
The relationship had been real.
That did not mean it had to continue.
People often assume betrayal reveals that everything before it was fake.
I never believed that.
Lauren had loved me.
I had loved her.
We had been happy.
And she had still made a decision incompatible with the marriage I wanted.
Both things could be true.
After three months, Lauren asked to meet for coffee.
I almost refused.
Then agreed.
Not because I wanted her back.
Because by then I was tired of speaking through messages.
She looked different.
Thinner.
Hair shorter.
She had started therapy.
She had not spoken to Alex since the canceled wedding.
At least that was what she told me.
I believed her.
Strangely, belief was easier now that it no longer mattered.
We sat across from each other.
She said:
“I understand something now.”
I waited.
“I thought marriage was the finish line.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought once we were married, that was it.”
“Everything before could be settled.”
“Alex.”
“My doubts.”
“My old life.”
She looked ashamed.
“I treated the wedding like a reset button.”
I nodded.
“That sounds right.”
“I thought I could do one last selfish thing and then become the person I was supposed to be.”
“Why did you think I should accept it?”
Lauren looked down.
“Because I was sure you wouldn’t leave.”
That was the answer I had needed.
Not because it helped.
Because it was finally honest.
She continued.
“I thought you loved me too much.”