The Wedding Before Mine

Three months before my wedding, the world came crashing down. My fiancé, Mike, posted a picture on his Instagram. It wasn't of us. It was his marriage certificate, side-by-side with a photo of my stepsister, Della, cradling her pregnant belly.
His caption read: Legally welcoming our little one into the world.
Della commented with a single shy-face emoji.
My own mother liked the post. Then she commented, I’ll watch the baby for you. You two just enjoy your time together.
I couldn't help myself. I typed a single question mark. A second later, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Mike. His voice, once a comfort, was a torrent of accusations.
"She's just 'borrowing' me for a year, Clara! The baby will be born, and then I'm all yours again."
"Don't be so petty," he continued, his tone sharp. "My mom agrees. She always said you should have a son before we make it official anyway. This works out perfectly. We have the wedding first, and you get your certificate later. It's fine."
A cold numbness spread through me. "Okay," I whispered, then hung up. I methodically went through my social media, deleting every trace of him, every happy memory now tainted. Then, I posted something new.
Need a groom. Any takers?

1
Mike was the first to reply.
Mike: Are you out of your goddamn mind, Clara? I marry her for a technicality, and you pull this stunt? Did you really think a pathetic post like this would make me jealous? That’s hilarious. I’m warning you, stop making trouble, and leave Della out of it.
Della’s comment appeared right below his.
Della: Sis, Mike just wants our baby to have a proper name. I’m not trying to steal him. When you and he get married, my child can even call you Mom.
Then came my mother.
Mom: You’re being so ungrateful. You get a child without the pain of childbirth, and Della is making it happen for you. The least you could do is thank her.
A flood of comments from Mike's buddies followed, each one a jab to the ribs.
You and Della are sisters, right? Doesn't matter who Mike marries, it's all in the family! How about Della gets him Mon-Weds-Fri, and you get Tues-Thurs-Sat?
They all thought it was a riot, their laughing emojis mocking my pain. I stared at the screen for a long time, a bitter, acidic feeling rising in my throat until it stung my eyes. Tears I couldn't hold back began to fall, splattering onto my phone.
They were the ones in the wrong.
And yet, here they were, shamelessly blaming me.
How pathetic. These people weren't worth a single one of my tears.
I wiped my eyes fiercely. Amidst the chaos of the comment section, one stood out, a calm island in a sea of insanity.
It was from Liam. Can I be your groom?
Liam and I grew up together. After college, I’d stayed in the city while he went abroad for his master's. The day I started dating Mike, Liam had respectfully distanced himself. It had been years since we’d really talked.
As I was still processing his comment, my phone rang. It was him.
"Clara," his voice was steady, warm. "I've been in love with you for a long time."
He didn't wait for me to respond. "You know I've never liked your stepsister, so there will be no drama there. I don't have a messy circle of friends, and I've spent the last few years building my career. There are no ex-girlfriends in the picture."
A notification popped up on my screen. A legal document. I opened it. It was a contract, transferring all his assets and company shares into my name.
My breath hitched.
"Clara," he said, and for the first time, I heard a tremor of vulnerability in his voice. "This is my entire commitment. It's all I have to offer. Will you give me a chance?"
A familiar ache settled in my chest. I remembered us as kids. Our teacher had given him two pieces of his favorite candy as a reward. He had looked at them, his mouth watering, but he hadn't eaten a single one. He’d saved both for me.
He had always given me everything.
My voice was thick with emotion. "Yes."
Love had proven to be a ghost, a phantom I’d chased only to be left wounded and bleeding. I had been ready to give up, to accept that I would be alone.
But my grandmother’s dying wish was to see me married, to know there was someone in the world who would have my back.
Mike was not that man.
But Liam… if my groom was Liam, I knew my grandmother would rest easy.
His voice bloomed with pure joy. "I'll wrap things up here. I'll be back to marry you in two weeks." He paused, his tone turning almost pleading. "Clara, you'll wait for me, won't you? You won't change your mind?"
That hint of childlike vulnerability reminded me of the time I’d promised to be his bride when we grew up.
"I will," I promised, a sudden urge to cry washing over me—not from sadness, but from a profound sense of relief.
"Liam," I whispered, "pinky swear."

2
After the call, my bedroom door swung open. It was my mother.
"Where is that sapphire necklace your father left you?"
I remained silent.
Her brow furrowed in annoyance. "What's with the attitude? Your sister thinks it's pretty and wants to wear it for a few days. Just get it. Don't be so childish!"
Della clung to our mother’s arm, her face a mask of disappointment. "It's okay, Mom. I know she's never really seen me as a sister. If she doesn't want to, I won't force her."
"She wouldn't dare!" my mother snapped, turning her glare on me. "That necklace belonged to my husband—your father. As of today, it’s yours, Della." She looked back at me, her voice hard as steel. "If you don't hand it over, don't blame me for having your room searched."
I stared at her, a bitter smile twisting my lips. It felt more like a grimace. The gentle, loving mother from my memories had vanished, replaced by this harsh, scolding stranger.
But it didn't matter anymore. I was leaving this place for good. There was no point in another meaningless fight.
Wordlessly, I retrieved the velvet box, opened it, and handed her the necklace.
A satisfied smile spread across her face. "That's my girl. Della is your little sister. You should always give her the best of everything."
After Mom left, Della fastened the sapphire clasp around her neck, admiring her reflection in my vanity mirror.
"Don't blame Mom for favoring me, sis. Honestly, this necklace looks much better on me anyway." She smirked. "Just like Mike looks better as my boyfriend." Her eyes met mine in the reflection. "Some things are just meant to be mine. No one else can ever have them."
I said nothing, watching her pathetic victory dance. With people like her, any reaction was fuel for the fire. Indifference was the only weapon.
I grabbed my purse, walked past her as if she were thin air, and headed for the stairs.
"Ah! Sis, why did you push me—"
Della suddenly lurched in front of me, feigning a push and stumbling backward toward the top of the staircase.
As much as I loathed her, my instincts kicked in. I reached out to grab her arm. It was a twenty-step drop; this was no joke.
"Clara, you venomous bitch!"
A hand slapped mine away from Della’s arm with brutal force. My hand slammed against the wooden banister with a sickening crack. A wave of white-hot pain shot up my arm, and I broke out in a cold sweat.
"Mike, you came just in time! I was so scared, I…" Della sobbed, burying herself in Mike’s arms, her face a mess of tears and fabricated terror.
"Shh, it's okay. I'm here now," Mike murmured, stroking her hair. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
I looked down at my hand, already swelling and turning a bruised, angry purple. Then I looked at Della, who hadn't suffered so much as a scratch, being held and comforted as if she were made of glass.
The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.
The boy who had once promised to cherish me forever, the man I was supposed to marry in three short months… how had his heart turned so cold, so fast?

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