The Unannounced Betrayal

1
A wedding in the snow-capped mountains—it was a dream I’d planned for years. For me and Simmon, it held a special, sacred meaning.
But I never imagined that with a single word from Clara, he would change everything.
I stood frozen in the doorway, my hands trembling, afraid to make a sound.
Simmon’s friend, Mark, frowned in confusion. “A wedding is about two people, man. You should at least tell Amelia. How is she supposed to prepare?”
Simmon waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “What’s there to prepare? The mountains are freezing. The beach is so much nicer.”
“But this is your wedding. To just change the venue without even telling her… isn’t that a little disrespectful?”
Simmon’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “If she knew, she’d just ask a million questions, probably throw a fit, and then I’d have to waste my time calming her down. It’s a hassle.”
“Besides,” he added with a smug confidence, “she loves me. She’ll agree. I mean, she went blind for me. What’s changing a wedding venue compared to that?”
A chorus of snickers erupted from the guys around them.
“We all know what this is about,” one of them said with a sly grin. “It’s all for Clara. Who could say no to a woman like that?”
“Haha, yeah, we always thought you’d end up with Clara. She’s gorgeous, and her family’s loaded.”
At that, Simmon’s face darkened. “Shut up. Don’t let me hear you say that again. If Amelia finds out and makes a scene, I’ll have your heads.”
The laughter continued. “Alright, alright, we get it. You’ve got it made. Amelia’s completely devoted to you.”
Just then, Simmon’s phone rang. The name “Clara” flashed across the screen. The men exchanged knowing, wicked smiles.
“Speak of the devil. The real Mrs. Thorne is calling.”
Simmon didn’t bother to correct them. His voice softened as he answered the call. Clara’s playful laughter tinkled through the phone.
“Simmon, did you really get that dress for me? I heard there’s a six-month waiting list!”
“I pulled some strings. Had it flown in from Milan. It’ll be here next week.”
“But… wasn’t it terribly expensive?”
“Only fifty grand. If you like it, it’s worth it.”
Her voice was thick with emotion. “You’re too good to me. I’ll be sure to wear it for you on your wedding day!”
Simmon’s smile was audible in his voice. “I’ll be waiting.”
When he hung up, his friends erupted in hoots and hollers.
“Damn, she’s going to upstage the bride! Simmon, who are you actually marrying, Amelia or Clara?”
Simmon just laughed it off. “Amelia and I are practically an old married couple already. It doesn’t matter what she wears. Clara’s different. She needs this more.”
I stood in the doorway, a bitter smile twisting my lips. My wedding dress was from a local boutique. I was still recovering my sight the day we went to pick it out, so I’d asked Simmon to be my eyes. After I’d tried on the third dress, he’d waved a hand dismissively. “They all look fine. Just pick this one. It’s not like you can see the details anyway.” He was in a hurry to pay. The receipt, I later saw, was for two hundred dollars.
So, he was capable of thoughtful, extravagant gestures. Just not for me.
On the way home, I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, but the tears came anyway.
Five years.
For five whole years, I had naively believed that he understood me.
When I first told him I wanted to get married in the mountains, he had smiled and ruffled my hair. “Of course,” he’d said. I was so touched in that moment. He remembered, I thought. He had to remember. He had to remember that it was where we first met, where I’d fallen and bled for him, where I’d held his hand in a blizzard and told him not to be afraid.
But he didn’t remember.
Or maybe, he had never cared enough to.
The doctor’s words echoed in my mind: Emotional distress can affect the recovery of your optic nerve. I tilted my head back, trying to force the tears back, but a raw, choked sob escaped my throat.
My phone rang. It was Simmon. The background was a cacophony of loud, thumping music. “Amelia, the guys are throwing me a bachelor party tonight. I won’t be home.”
I paused for two seconds. “Okay.”
This “bachelor party” had been going on for three days.
At 1 a.m., unable to sleep, I scrolled through social media.
Mark had posted a nine-photo collage with the caption: A brother’s last night of freedom.
In the center photo, Clara, her cheeks flushed with alcohol, was leaning against Simmon’s chest. His hand was hovering protectively over her waist.
The comments were a flood of innuendo and pity.
“Such a perfect couple. What a shame.”
“They were childhood friends, you guys. Don’t start rumors.”
“@SimmonThorne Careful, man. Don’t want to make Amelia mad!”
Simmon had replied.
“Amelia won’t mind. If she makes a big deal out of something like this, then maybe we shouldn’t be getting married at all.”
I silently liked the comment, turned off my phone, and went to sleep.
He was so certain I would tolerate it. Just like I tolerated the change of venue, the fifty-thousand-dollar dress for another woman, and every single time he’d said, “We’re just friends.”
But this time, I was done tolerating.
I went to my follow-up appointment at the eye clinic alone.
“I told you last time, your vision is still fluctuating. You need to have someone accompany you,” the doctor chided gently.
I just smiled. “I can manage.”
As I left the clinic, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour. Through the rain-streaked window of a coffee shop, I saw them. Simmon was holding up his phone, and Clara was leaning against his shoulder, her face pressed against his, making a peace sign for a selfie.
The purse on the table next to her was the brand-new designer bag Simmon had claimed he was buying for a “client” last week.
I let out a dry, humorless laugh and walked home in the storm.
When Simmon got home, I was peeling off my soaked clothes.
He looked up, startled. “What happened to you? You’re drenched.”
“My appointment.”
His expression froze. “That was today?”
I laughed, a sound devoid of any warmth. “Yes. The third time I reminded you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’ve been so busy lately, I forgot. Anyway, your vision is getting better. Missing one appointment won’t kill you.”
I just stared at him. “The doctor said my optic nerve is still atrophying.”
He was silent for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were hard. “Are you trying to remind me again? That you went blind for me?”
So that’s what it had become. Not a sacrifice, but a tool for me to guilt him with.
When I didn't answer, his frustration boiled over into anger. “What’s with that look? I forgot one time! Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of every little thing?”
I looked at the collar of his shirt. “You’ve got a little blueberry jam there.”
He instinctively reached up to wipe it, then froze. “You…”
“Clara’s new purse is very nice,” I added calmly.
His face flushed a deep, angry red. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Were you following me? Seriously? She was just having a bad day and needed someone to talk to!”
“You know what her family situation is like! I’m all she has!”
“Amelia, can’t you be a little more understanding? This is getting ridiculous!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Funny. When I was at my appointment today, I was also ‘all I had’.”
He flinched, as if I’d struck him. “That’s different… you have people who care about you…”
Suddenly, his phone rang. Clara again. He answered it immediately. Her choked sobs were audible even from where I stood. “Simmon, I fell… it hurts so much…”
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”
He hung up and pulled open the door, then paused and looked back at me. “You need to do some serious thinking. I’ll take you to the gift shop tomorrow to pick out the wedding favors.”
“And stop following me,” he added, his voice laced with contempt. “It makes you look pathetic.”
He left. His words hung in the air.
Pathetic.
He was right.
The only question was, why had it taken me so long to see it?
It seemed I had been blind for a very long time.
The car ride to the gift shop was suffocatingly awkward. I put in my earbuds and closed my eyes.
Simmon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous energy radiating from him. “This weather is just perfect for the beach, isn't it?”
He glanced over at me. When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I hear the Golden Shore Resort is really popular right now. A lot of celebrities have their weddings there.”
I still didn’t open my eyes. I just made a noncommittal sound.
He frowned, his voice tinged with impatience. “Amelia, are you even listening to me?”
I opened my eyes a fraction. “I’m listening. So?”
He was momentarily speechless. “…Nothing. Just making conversation.”
A cool breeze drifted through the open window, clearing my head a little. “Simmon,” I said, turning to look at him. “About the wedding… is there anything you need to tell me?”
It was the first and last time I would ever ask.
He avoided my gaze, forcing a laugh. “It’s all up to you. I trust you.”
I looked down, my heart sinking. He was still lying. Even now, if he would just be honest, maybe I could… No. It was too late.
I clenched my fists. So this is what trust was for. To be trampled on.
Simmon laughed again, a nervous, hollow sound. His eyes darted around, unable to meet mine. I could practically hear his thoughts. She definitely knows. She's just sulking. I'll just have to charm her a bit later.
At the gift shop, I saw the mock-up of the custom pastries I’d ordered. Tiny, intricate cakes in the shape of a snow-capped mountain. I was about to taste one when a familiar voice chirped from behind me.
“Simmon? Are you here buying me my favorite almond crisps?”
I frowned. Her again?
Clara spotted me and covered her mouth in feigned surprise. “Oh, Amelia! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“Oh, are you guys picking out wedding favors? This place has the best almond crisps. Simmon brings me here all the time!”
My fingers tightened. He brought her here all the time. I had only found out about this place from a friend.
Clara picked up a new pastry. “Amelia, you should try this one. It would be perfect for a beach wedding. It pairs wonderfully with champagne!”
I took a step back. “No, thank you. I’ve already made my choice. You two enjoy yourselves.”
Clara looked momentarily taken aback, then her face crumpled into a mask of wounded innocence. “Are you… upset because I’m here? I-I can leave.”
Simmon immediately grabbed her wrist. “Amelia didn’t mean that. You don’t have to go.” He turned to me, his eyes hard. “Amelia, Clara is going to be your maid of honor. Don’t be so rude to her. You’re scaring her.”
I stared at him, stunned. When was that decided? Wasn’t the maid of honor my choice to make? But then again, if he could change the entire wedding venue without consulting me, what else did he think he had the right to decide?
My face was a blank mask. “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”
They both stared at me, clearly shocked by my bluntness.
Clara’s eyes welled up with tears. “It’s fine, I’ll just go. I don’t want to be in the way.”
But Simmon held onto her hand, his fingers now intertwined with hers. “Amelia, you’re about to be a married woman. Can you stop being so childish? Ever since we set the date, you’ve been nothing but moody. What’s the point?”
Clara murmured something, pressing closer to him. “Simmon, don’t…”
But he was on a roll. “Don’t try to stop me. I’m sick of it! Go ahead, Amelia, keep throwing your tantrums. But don’t come crying to me when you’ve cried yourself blind again!”
The shop fell silent. The employees stared at the floor, mortified.
My heart felt like it had been plunged into a vat of ice.
So that’s what he thought. My blindness wasn’t a sacrifice. It was just me being dramatic, crying myself blind over some petty jealousy.
And I had actually hoped he would remember the significance of a mountain wedding.
How many times had this happened? Clara would call with a headache or a dizzy spell, and Simmon would drop everything to be by her side. I had a 102-degree fever once, and he was too busy shopping with Clara to do more than text, “Drink lots of water. I’ll check on you later.” He never did.
Whenever I complained, he would turn it back on me. “Why are you so needy? Clara actually needs me!”
For our anniversary, he had promised to take me to see the sunrise over the mountains. I spent weeks planning the perfect gift. He forgot the date entirely. “It’s just a day. Why are you so obsessed with it?”
But for Clara’s birthday, he had booked a restaurant a month in advance, bought her extravagant gifts, and posted a gushing tribute on social media. “Happy birthday to the most important person in my life.”
Thinking back on all of it, seeing them standing there together, I was just… tired.
I should have walked away a long time ago.
As I turned to leave, Simmon’s voice followed me, though he was still looking at Clara. “She’s probably just got pre-wedding jitters. Don’t mind her.”
How considerate of him, to make excuses for me.
Through the shop window, I saw him take her hand and feed her an almond crisp. They looked, for all the world, like the happy couple.
That night, I received a voice message from Simmon. “Amelia, stop being angry. I’m so busy with work, and I have to take care of both of you. Can’t you be a little more understanding? We’re about to be husband and wife. I need you to be more mature.”
He was slightly drunk, and he rambled on for a while.
I didn’t listen to the rest.
He had it so hard.
So I decided to make things easier for him. I would relieve him of his burden, once and for all.
The day before the wedding, Simmon finally cracked. He called me. “Amelia, the wedding schedule… you’ve confirmed everything, right?”
I was packing my suitcase for the mountains. “Mmmhmm. All confirmed.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Good… that’s good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
The next day, I put on my wedding dress. Not the one he had picked out.
I heard a car pull up outside, and then my phone rang.
It was Simmon, his voice rushed. “Amelia, Clara twisted her ankle. I’m taking her to the hospital, I won’t have time to pick you up. Can you just get yourself to the venue? It’s just a formality, I’ll meet you there.”
My voice was calm. “Okay.”
He paused, seeming to notice the lack of emotion in my tone. “You’re… not mad, are you?”
“No. You do what you have to do.”
He hung up, relieved. He turned to Clara, who was sitting in the passenger seat. “Does it hurt? We’re almost at the hospital.”
Her eyes were filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I’ve ruined your wedding day…”
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don’t say that. You’re hurt. Of course I’m going to take care of you.”
But a small, uneasy feeling was starting to prick at him. My reaction had been too calm.
Maybe she’s finally realized that I do care about her, he thought. I’ll make it up to her on the honeymoon.
At the Golden Shore Resort, the guests from Simmon’s side of the family had all arrived. But the bride’s family and friends were nowhere to be seen.
Simmon arrived with Clara on his arm. The sight of the half-empty venue sent a jolt of panic through him.
“No way… she didn't see the email about the venue change, did she?”
He couldn’t bear to imagine the consequences.
He tried calling my phone. No answer. He checked his watch, his face growing paler by the second.
Finally, I picked up.
“Amelia, where are you?” he yelled, his voice tight with anxiety. “The guests are all waiting!”
I looked out the window at the gently falling snow.
“I’ve been here for a while.”

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