I'd waited eight years to hear those words.
The joy was so overwhelming it crushed every doubt in my chest.
But that evening, she forgot to lock the bathroom door. When I walked in, I saw the scratches across her back.
Fresh scratches. I demanded to know what happened.
She answered without missing a beat—a cat had scratched her.
She even pulled up her rabies vaccination record as proof.
I forced myself to believe it.
But my gut told me something was wrong. Even while I was planning our wedding, none of it felt real.
A voice inside me kept whispering: The only reason she finally agreed to marry you is because she's trying to make up for what she did behind your back.
I buried my head in the sand. I didn't dare look for proof.
But I couldn't let it go, either. So I started following her in secret.
When I discovered that her so-called client meetings were actually visits to Graham's apartment, I stopped pushing. I waited for her to come clean on her own.
That was why I didn't press her when she skipped the rehearsal.
That was why I said nothing when she texted me about getting a marriage license with Graham.
"Excuse me."
I had no interest in wasting words on Graham. I just wanted to leave.