The Bouquet I Never Caught

At my best friend's wedding, the bouquet fell into a bridesmaid's arms, then bounced and landed in mine.

Every eye in the room turned to my boyfriend, Ethan, and the crowd started chanting:

Marry her! Marry her!

The crowd pushed Ethan forward until he stood right in front of me.

My face flushed red as I waited quietly for those words"I'll marry you."

But he just calmly pulled the bouquet from my hands.

Then turned and casually handed it to that bridesmaid.

"She caught it first. Should give it back to her. Next time I'll buy you flowers myself." He ruffled my hair, his voice gentle as always.

I watched that bridesmaid's expressionsurprised and bashfuland let out a cold laugh.

Ethan didn't know there wouldn't be a next time.

My wedding was scheduled for next week.

Layla's face darkened instantly.

I grabbed her hand before it could fly up.

She turned back, her eyes even redder than mine:

"That woman did it on purpose! I told all the bridesmaids clearly that the bouquet was meant for you..."

"Layla." I gently interrupted her. "The wedding isn't over yet."

The crowd's attention had already shifted away from Ethan and me.

Following that bouquet, it now rested on the face of the bridesmaid named Quinn Rivers.

She held the flowers, gazing at Ethan with eyes full of meaning.

Ethan had already retreated calmly to the edge of the crowd.

The MC was experienced.

A few witty remarks and the atmosphere heated up again.

Layla finally turned away with a huff and continued with the ceremony.

Throughout the entire banquet, I sat at the main table with my best friend's family.

Enduring sympathetic or curious glances from all directions.

Ethan sat at another table, laughing and chatting with his friends.

Quinn sat close to himfar too close for what a secretary's distance should be.

She wasn't originally supposed to be a bridesmaid.

The groom's side suddenly had an extra groomsman, so they had her fill in.

Ethan often brought her to various events, calling it "professional development."

He even brought her to my best friend's wedding.

During the toast, Layla came to our table with her new husband.

She hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, her voice low enough for only us to hear:

"That woman has been scheming her way close to your Ethan for half a year. I had someone look into hershe's ruthless. Ethan, he..."

"Layla," I patted her back, cutting off what came next. "Today you're the most beautiful bride. Don't talk about that stuff."

She huffed but said nothing more.

As the banquet ended and guests gradually dispersed, Ethan finally walked over casually. "Ready to go home?"

He naturally took my handbag and habitually reached to put his arm around my shoulders.

I shifted slightly, avoiding him.

"You've been drinking. I'll call a rideshare."

He didn't seem to mind and nodded. "That works."

The car drove into the night.

The window reflected my face dimly.

My makeup was perfect, but couldn't hide the exhaustion in my eyes.

"Quinn caught the bouquet first today. She probably wanted some good luck." He suddenly spoke. "Returning it to its rightful ownerdon't take it too personally."

I didn't respond, just watched the neon lights flying backward outside the window.

He waited a moment, then finally looked up from his phone screen toward me. "Are you angry?"

He leaned closer. "Didn't we agree? Next time for sure?"

His fingers threaded through my loose hair, rubbing the back of my neck.

Like soothing a temperamental cat. "Our wedding will definitely be even better than Layla's. You can have as many bouquets as you want, okay?"

A layer of bitterness spread through my heart.

It was always like this.

Using a gentle tone to make vague promises about "next time."

Then taking for granted that the storm should simply pass.

"Ethan." I looked at his reflection in the window.

"Hmm?"

"Layla and I made a promise when we were kids." My voice was calm. "Whoever gets married first, the other one's wedding can't be more than a week later."

"We'd wear each other's bridesmaid dresses and be the first to witness each other's happiness."

The car fell silent for a moment.

His hand rubbing my neck stopped.

"You're taking childhood jokes seriously?" He laughed.

That hand started moving again, with a perfunctory quality. "Plans can't keep up with changes these days. Hotels, dates, arrangementsall of that needs six months to a year of preparation."

"We'll plan it properly and give you the most perfect wedding. What's the rush?"

He didn't explain why he hadn't dared to publicly promise to marry me.

Instead, he jumped straight to "how to plan a perfect wedding."

I suddenly remembered a month before Layla's wedding.

She excitedly dragged me to try on the bridesmaid dress she'd designed herself.

Pale champagne tulle with tiny pearls sewn along the waistline.

When I put it on, Layla's eyes lit up, then inexplicably reddened.

"Riley, you look amazing in this."

"I made it especially for you. When you get married, I'll make you an even more beautiful wedding dress!"

Ethan had been there too.

He was looking down at work messages, and when he heard this, he glanced up and smiled. "Not bad."

Then his eyes dropped back to the screen, fingers tapping rapidly.

In that instant, besides feeling happy for my friend about to be married, I also felt desolate about my own eight-year relationship with no results.

The car slowly pulled into the residential complex and stopped.

Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt.

Seeming to think the conversation in the car had closed that little episode, he very naturally leaned over, wanting to give me a kiss.

I raised my hand and gently pressed against his shoulder.

He froze.

"I'm tired, Ethan."

He looked at me, silent for several seconds.

Finally, he just patted my shoulder. "Being a bridesmaid is exhausting. Get some rest early."

"Quinn said she can't get a car. It's not safe for a young woman aloneI'm going back to pick her up."

"Okay." My voice was flat and emotionless.

He didn't move immediately.

He seemed to be waiting for me to remind him to be safe like usual.

Or to complain with a trace of grievance that "it's so late and you're still going out."

But I just pulled open the car door.

And got out.

The driver slowly started the car again.

After closing the door, I collapsed on the sofa.

After a long time, I finally got up and walked toward the bedroom.

Passing that "children's room," my steps paused.

This had been planned when we bought the house four years ago.

Now there were no children, just piles of miscellaneous items.

I walked in.

From the dusty crib, I pulled out a thick stack of things.

His handwritten love letters, movie ticket stubs, amusement park tickets, instant photos from trips together...

At the very bottom was one from our college graduation.

He carried me on his back under a cherry blossom tree, my arms around his neck.

My long hair and cherry blossom petals flying together.

On the back of the photo, he'd written boldly: "I'll carry you for a lifetime. I mean it."

The weak light from the living room fell on those words, cold.

Like a silent mockery.

Downstairs, the faint sound of a car entering the garage drifted up.

My movements stopped. I didn't move, just listened.

The sound of keys turning in the lock, deliberately lightened footsteps.

After a while, the door was gently pushed open.

He stood in the doorway. "Still not asleep?"

I didn't turn around, still crouching by the crib. "Mm."

"Why'd you dig all this stuff out?" he asked, his tone casual. "Feeling nostalgic?"

I didn't answer his question, just quietly asked, "Did you drop her off?"

He paused, then explained: "Yeah, dropped her off. She lives pretty far outnot easy to get a car."

"Oh." I lowered my head again, carefully folding the photos and putting them back.

"It's late. Let's sleep." He spoke again, this time extending his hand, wanting to pull me up.

I didn't offer my hand. Instead, I braced against my knees and stood up somewhat laboriously.

My legs had gone numb from crouching, making me sway.

"Ethan."

"Hmm?" His footsteps paused.

"Let's break up."

He stopped moving, looked at me for two seconds, then laughed.

He raised his hand and loosened his tie. "Still thinking about the bouquet? Don't be petty."

His tone held that exasperation of humoring a temperamental child. "Alright, I'll order you a bigger one tomorrow, okay? Now wash up and sleepI have an early meeting tomorrow."

He finished speaking and turned toward the bathroom.

"Within a week," I said to his back, my voice not loud, "I'm getting married."

His hand, just touching the bathroom door handle, froze.

Several seconds later, he turned around.

The perfunctory warmth on his face finally peeled away completely.

"Riley, stop playing around."

He pressed his temples. "Marriage is serious. You don't just get married out of spite."

"October 28th." I supplied the date.

"The hotel's booked. The wedding dress is chosen."

He suddenly laughed coldly. "Did Layla say something to you today? Just because she had a whirlwind marriage, she thinks everyone should be as impulsive as her?"

"Riley, wake up. Don't let her lead you astray. After all these years we've been together..."

"Ethan," I interrupted him. "The invitations start printing tomorrow."

The muscles in his face twitched subtly.

"Riley, you think this is going to work? This just makes me think you're immature and unreasonable!"

"I'm in a critical phase of my career right now. This would only distract me and disrupt all my plans and arrangements."

"Are you really that desperate to get married?"

His words hit like stones.

Once, his attitude would have made me panic, made me rush to explain and back down.

But now, only calm remained in my heart.

His attention had always been expensive.

It had to be divided among important projects and given to his "capable" secretarylate-night check-ins, birthday surprises, and hot spring trips that just happened to extend business trips by half a day...

Naturally, little remained for me, the "old timer."

Meeting his gaze, I nodded:

"Yes. My friends are all married. I want to get married too."

After saying this, I turned and went into the bedroom.

On the nightstand sat a fashion magazine from six months ago, its cover headline bold:

Bride-to-Be Must Read! The Perfect Three-Month Wedding Planning Guide.

I'd bought it enthusiastically back then, flipped through a few pages, then set it aside after his "no rush" and never opened it again.

In the darkness, I stared at the blurred ceiling.

My phone vibrated softly.

The screen lit up automaticallya message from Layla:

Are you asleep? I'm so upset. Just thinking about that woman makes me furious. What's wrong with Ethan?

What's wrong?

Nothing's wrong.

In this world, not every wait ends with flowers blooming.

She continued with a long message:

Remember we said our weddings couldn't be more than a week apart?

Who knew your guy would be like a block of woodthe bouquet literally landed in your hands and he still had no sense. You've been together eight years, not eight months!

Forget it. This time, I'll allow you to break our promise.

My fingertip paused slightly.

I gently typed a few words: When have I ever broken a promise to you?

Ethan moved to the small apartment near his company for emergency overtime.

Probably my sudden wedding plan made him feel suffocated, and he went there for some peace.

Fine. We both got some breathing room.

I quietly handled everything.

Listed our current house on real estate websites.

The afternoon I handed the keys to the agent, I was at home sorting through odds and ends.

I found a project file tucked into an old magazine.

A glance showed it was one Ethan was currently working on.

After hesitating, I decided to take it to him.

When I arrived, the apartment door was tightly shut.

Inside came the faint sound of laughterclearly more than one person.

I raised my hand about to knock.

A familiar female voice rose up, sounding troubled:

"Mr. Ethan, it's all my fault. First time catching a bouquetI had no experience. Now the company group chat is going wild. Several colleagues have privately asked me if Mr. Ethan and I..."

"You really need to clarify in the group, or I'll be too embarrassed to show my face."

My raised hand froze mid-air.

Before Ethan could respond, one of his buddies cut in with a teasing laugh:

"I say, Secretary Rivers, do you really want our Mr. Ethan to clarify, or are you hinting you want to hear him say something else?"

A round of knowing laughter.

Quinn protested "stop it" coyly, but her voice held no real annoyance.

"Alright, stop teasing her." Ethan's voice came through, with a kind of casual indulgence. "Don't worry too much about that kind of thing. In a while, everyone will naturally forget."

In a while, they'll forget...

These words unexpectedly unlocked a certain memory.

Back when I went to the company to help him with miscellaneous tasks, he'd casually put his arm around my shoulders, forgetting the setting.

A colleague happened to see it.

That afternoon, he made a brief clarification in the company group chat.

Told everyone not to misunderstand and to focus on work.

At the time, I understood.

To avoid unnecessary gossip, I stopped going to the company.

My fingertips felt slightly cold.

Turns out what he minded might never have been "office romance" itself.

But rather... being seen with me!

A woman who couldn't really help his career.

Another buddy asked with confusion:

"Speaking of which, Ethan, how'd you handle things with Riley in the end? I actually got a wedding invitation from her this morningthis is way too sudden!"

Brief silence.

Ethan laughed lightly, without warmth. "Let her do what she wants."

"I usually indulge her little tantrums. But this time, I need to let her understand on her own that some things don't work just because you make a fuss."

"Whoa," someone egged him on. "So you mean this groom is definitely planning to be a no-show?"

Ethan didn't speak, essentially confirming it.

Until another buddy, with slight uncertainty, probed:

"Ethan, you really gonna let it get this bad? You and Riley have been together so many years. All us guys have been waiting to toast at your weddingour necks are getting long..."

He paused here, his tone taking on a half-joking speculation:

"You're being so stubborn about this... could it be you really have other plans? Like... our Secretary Rivers here?"

"Mr. Lee~" Quinn laughed coyly, drawing out her words. "Please don't joke about me like that. Mr. Ethan... he knows what's in his heart."

Those last few words, she said softly yet meaningfully.

Ethan didn't explain.

A round of knowing low laughter rose up.

Another male voice chimed in, full of agreement: "If you ask me, Ethan's already devoted enough. All these yearsanyone else would've lost patience long ago."

"Besides making a fuss, what can Riley actually help with? Not like our Quinn heresmart, sensible, and can really step up when it matters..."

Quinn cut him off coyly: "Don't talk nonsense!"

The motion-sensor light in the hallway had gone out at some point.

The corridor was completely dark.

I gently set the document envelope on the floor by the door and used my toe to push it toward the gap beneath.

Then I turned and left.

Ethan checked his phone screen again.

The chat window with Riley still stopped at the last message he'd sent her:

When you've thought it through, I'll come back.

Something wasn't right.

He knew Riley. In the past, even during cold wars, her silence always carried some small tactic to get his attention.

But he'd moved out five days ago, and she hadn't even posted on social media.

"Ethan," a mutual friend held his phone up to him, tone full of amazement. "Whoa, your girl's wedding photos... absolutely stunning."

Ethan snapped back to attention.

It was Layla's postnine photos in a grid.

In the center photo, Riley wore a wedding dress.

She stood before a floor-to-ceiling window of pure clarity.

Sunlight poured down, coating her in a soft, warm glow.

Her head tilted slightly down, gaze resting on her hand lightly touching the satin of the wedding dress.

A faint curve graced her lips.

Beautiful.

A kind of beauty he hadn't seen in her for a long time.

Washed clean of all anxiety, settled into a serene beauty.

Below, likes and comments from mutual friends flooded in:

"Riley looks absolutely gorgeous!"

"That Ethan guy is so lucky!"

"Congratulations! Finally!"

Layla's social media had always blocked him.

He couldn't see it directly.

But he could glimpse this commotion through others' phones.

Along with it came an inexplicable anger.

She's actually going through with it?

And making such a big production of it?

"Tch, she's really putting on quite a show." He twisted his lips. "Let her make a scene. I'm not going."

His friend laughed awkwardly. "Ethan, why..."

"Some things, you can't indulge." Ethan cut him off. "Especially when someone's fanning the flames. After this is over,"

He paused, meaningfully. "I'll make her understand who she needs to keep her distance from."

In his mind, Layla had long been classified as a "bad influence on Riley"someone who needed to be isolated.

October 28th.

The second day after that photo set was posted.

Ethan woke early.

Earlier this year, Riley's parents had come over for dinner.

During the meal, they'd mentioned this was the most suitable day for a wedding.

He never imagined Riley would actually schedule it for this day!

Calls and messages from several buddies came in successively.

"Ethan, you really not going? We're all readyjust waiting for your word to head over!"

"Should we arrange the car convoy? If we leave now, we can still make it."

He scoffed and replied in the group chat: "What's the rush? Let her wait."

He imagined Riley right now in her wedding dress, sitting anxiously in the decorated bridal suite, checking the time over and over, expectant yet anxious...

That sense of punitive satisfaction swelled in his heart.

She needed to taste what real panic felt like, so she wouldn't pull this again.

Until someone suddenly dropped a screenshot in the groupLayla's latest post.

The image showed a warmly decorated bedroom full of wedding atmosphere.

Heart-shaped balloons floated about.

Rose petals scattered across the bed.

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, warm and brimming with sweet atmosphere.

The caption read: My girl must be happy! Groom, hurry up and come!

The group chat exploded instantly.

"Holy crap, she actually set everything up!"

"This atmosphere... Ethan, if you don't go I really can't watch this anymore!"

"Ethan! Be a man and get moving! Don't really screw this up!"

"Address! Address! Brothers will go with you!"

The light from the screen reflected on Ethan's face.

He stared at that photo, his fingers tightening slightly.

Every detail in that room called for the groom's arrival.

He imagined himself pushing open the door, seeing her surprised and delighted eyes amid everyone's cheers...

He turned his head toward the closet.

That custom-tailored suit hung in the most prominent position.

Tie, cufflinks, shoesall complete.

A week ago, for some reason, he'd somehow had his assistant prepare it all.

Now, with his buddies pressuring him relentlessly, that taut string in his heart seemed to loosen a bit.

He spoke into his phone, tone still reluctantly annoyed: "Alright, alright, what's all the noise about?"

As if he had no choice but to compromise under his friends' urging: "Wait for me to change."

He stood and walked toward the closet, his steps faster than usual, though he didn't realize it.

Buttoning the last button on his shirt, about to put on the suit jacket, his phone rang.

It was one of the buddies who'd gone ahead to scout:

"Ethan, why was your and Riley's place sold? Where are we supposed to pick up the bride?"