Love, Interrupted

The morning of our wedding, I happen to discover a voice message saved under Joseph Payne's favorites. "Honey, I miss you." A syrupy-sweet voice fills the air. I confront him and demand an explanation, but he doesn't even flinch. "I won't lie. I made a selfish mistake," he admits calmly. "But it was just a dare she lost. That message was a bet, nothing more." Their chat history seems to confirm his claim. There's nothing flirtatious. They're just ordinary, day-to-day conversations. Nothing crosses the line. But as I scroll through them, my eyes blur with tears, soaking the delicate fabric of my wedding dress. I look at him and say, "Joseph, delete her number from your phone. We can still go on with the ceremony." Seven years of being together has brought us to this final moment. We're just one step away from the altar. Just days ago, I found out I was pregnant. We could have had it all today. But right then, a young woman in a cleaner's uniform suddenly coughs blood and darts off with reddened eyes. Joseph recognizes her instantly. And without thinking, he runs after her. I grab his arm tightly. "If you walk away now, don't ever dream of marrying me again. This is your last chance." He doesn't answer. Instead, one finger at a time, he pries my hand off his sleeve. Then, he leaves.