Unworthy Of My Dedication

To marry Connor, I severed all ties with my family.

My father struck my name off the family records right in front of my eyes.

My mother slapped me across the face, declaring that from that day on, she no longer had a daughter.

I didn't regret it.

Our engagement dinner was set for the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. Two hundred invitations had been sent out. Dressed in a rented gown that pinched my waist, I waited for three hours.

He never showed up.

My calls went straight to voicemail, and my messages were left unread.

I forced a smile and told the remaining guests that he had been called away for an urgent business trip. When the venue emptied, I was left to clean up the wreckage alone.

My phone buzzed with a social media notification, a trending local post.

Connor, heir to the Holden family empire, marries his childhood sweetheart.

The attached photo showed him in a tailored suit, holding Fiona's hand outside the courthouse, a red marriage certificate proudly in hand.

The registration date was three days ago.

I carefully folded the rented gown, packed it back into its garment bag, and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.

"Mom, can I come home?"

"You still have the nerve to call this home?"

My mother's voice cracked through the receiver, so raspy and hollow that I barely recognized it.

I opened my mouth, but the words withered in my throat.

"Your father had heart bypass surgery last month. He spent twenty days in the ICU."

A loud ringing filled my ears. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Tell you? You were the one who said you were marrying that Connor fellow, no matter what. You told us you were done with this family."

"Mom, I"

"Don't call me Mom. You haven't used that word in three years, don't start now."

The line went dead.

I redialed immediately, but the phone was already switched off.

Huddled on the curb outside the ballroom, I stared at the trending post. The comments section was already in the tens of thousands. Someone had screenshotted the status I had posted three hours ago, captioned: "Finally, the wait is over."

The top comment below it read: "Too bad he wasn't the one waiting for you."

The banquet manager walked out, a clipboard in his hand. "Miss Shen, the remaining balance is thirty-six hundred dollars. If we don't settle this tonight, there will be a late fee."

"Can I do a wire transfer?"

"Yes, that works."

I opened my mobile banking app. My balance was exactly thirty-six hundred and two dollars. It was the sum of three years of quiet, painstaking savings.

Once the transfer cleared, my balance was exactly two dollars.

The manager gave me a fleeting look, perhaps searching for some words of comfort, but ultimately nodded and walked away.

At the bridal boutique, the assistant quietly took the garment bag from my hands. "Did it get stained, Jane?"

"No, it's clean."

"Here is your deposit refund."

"Thank you."

I took a cab back to our apartment. When I pressed my thumb against the smart lock, the screen flashed with two words: "Access Denied."

I tried three times, but the result was the same.

I messaged Connor: "I can't get in."

It marked as read.

Eight minutes later, he replied with a six-digit passcode. No greeting, no explanation.

I punched in the numbers and pushed the door open. The first thing I saw in the foyer was a pair of plush pink slippers. They were not my size.

On the entryway table sat a massive bouquet of baby's breath with a card: "Fiona, welcome to your new home. Love, Connor."

I had lived here for three years, and he had never once bought a single flower for me, not even on the day we moved in.

On the coffee table was a pink mug painted with the words "Mrs. Holden."

A lavender cardigan was draped over the sofa. It wasn't mine.

The bedsheets in the master bedroom had been replaced with purple silk. The cotton sheets I had bought were stuffed into the absolute bottom of the linen closet.

My clothes had been shoved into a tight corner of the wardrobe to make room for a row of new dresses. The price tags were still attached, the cheapest one costing four hundred dollars. In three years, I had never spent more than thirty dollars on a single piece of clothing.

On the back of the bedroom door, there was a sticky note in Connor's handwriting.

Jane, sleep in the guest room for a few days. Fiona just moved in and is still adjusting. Just a temporary arrangement.

I stared at those words, then slowly peeled the note off the wood.

My phone rang. I called Connor back, and this time, he answered. The background was loud, filled with clinking glasses and chatter, like a busy restaurant.

"Jane, this isn't a good time."

"Did you marry Fiona?"

A heavy silence lasted for two seconds. "I'll explain later."

"Then why was my fingerprint deleted from the door?"

"Fiona wanted to reset the security settings. I'll add yours back tomorrow." His voice was flat, as if he were discussing the weather.

"Two hundred people watched me wait for three hours today, and you couldn't even manage a single phone call?"

"Don't get hysterical, Jane. It's not what you think"

Suddenly, a soft, whiny voice drifted through the line. "Connor, the soup is getting cold. Come back to the table."

He lowered his voice. "I have to go. We'll talk later."

Later. For three years, every promise he made was pushed to some vague "later."

I clutched my phone, sitting on the edge of the guest bed. Five minutes later, an unknown number popped up.

"Jane? It's Fiona." Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "Connor wanted me to let you know he won't be coming home tonight. He said you shouldn't wait up and should get some rest."

I said nothing.

She paused for a beat, then added: "Jane, Connor always says you're the most understanding person he knows. He knew you wouldn't get upset over something so minor. He said you never mind."

"Jane? Could you open the door? I'm here to grab some things."

Fiona was standing outside the door at noon the next day. She wore a cream-colored knit dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, holding two cups of iced boba tea.

I unlocked the door, and she slipped on those pink slippers, walking in as if she owned the place. Her movements were entirely natural; she didn't even have to look for the light switch. The switch was hidden behind a decorative wooden panel in the corner, a detail that had taken me a week to find when we first moved in.

She curled onto the sofa, placing the cups on the table. "I got you one. Low sugar. Connor said you don't like sweet things."

I didn't touch it. "What are you here for?"

"Just a few changes of clothes. It's a bit inconvenient for Connor and me to keep staying at the hotel."

She smiled, walking into the master bedroom to open the closet. As she passed the nightstand, she casually picked up the photo frame. It was the only picture I had with Connor. I had begged him for hours before he finally agreed to take it, his face entirely expressionless the entire time.

Fiona stared at it for a moment, then flipped it face-down on the table. "We probably don't need this anymore, right?"

I walked over and flipped the frame back up.

She tilted her head, her tone carrying a mock gentleness. "Jane, do you really not know?"

"Know what?"

"Connor said your engagement was just for show. His grandmothers health is failing, and she was pressuring him to settle down, so he just went along with it to keep her happy."

Just to keep her happy.

Three years ago, when I cut ties with my family to be with him, he had held me and said: "Jane, you have me now."

He had convinced me to turn down a prestigious corporate management track position in Seattle so I could move to New York and help him launch his startup. An offer with a six-figure salary, crumpled and thrown into the trash.

He told me we were building our future together, that everything we made would be ours. And I had said yes.

He told me things were tight and asked me to cover the company's operating costs with my savings. And I had said yes.

All those sacrifices, reduced to "just for show."

Fiona pulled a stack of clothes from the wardrobe, spotting my faded floral dress tucked at the very bottom. "This dress looks so old, Jane. You still keep it?"

"I bought it in college."

"Ah, that explains it."

She packed her things and headed for the door, stopping near the guest room. "By the way, Jane, you might want to start packing your things. Connor said we're officially moving back in next week."

I looked at her.

She quickly waved her hands. "Oh, I don't mean to kick you out! I just don't want our things getting mixed up. Connor said you're incredibly reasonable, so I knew you wouldn't take it the wrong way."

As she bent down to change her shoes, I noticed a silver bracelet on her wrist. It was the bracelet that belonged in my jewelry box, the one my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday.

"Where did you get that bracelet?"

She looked down, her tone dripping with innocence. "Connor gave it to me. He said he found it at a local vintage market. Pretty, isn't it?"

He had taken my mothers gift and handed it to another woman, calling it a market find.

I stood frozen.

Fiona opened the door and smiled back. "Oh, one last thing. Connor is going to cancel the supplementary credit card you have. An account can only have one secondary card, and he needs to set up a new one for me."

I was the one paying off the monthly balance on that card.

"Really? Well, thank you so much, Jane." She took a few steps, then turned around again. "Connor told me to tell you that he appreciates everything you've done during this transition, and he'll make it up to you later. But you'll have to wait a little bit. We haven't paid the deposit for our honeymoon hotel yet."

"Jane, don't go online today."

Sarah's message had been sent at two in the morning. I didn't see it until seven.

"What happened?"

"Someone leaked photos of you from yesterday."

I opened social media. The top trending local post read: The Engagement Dinner Farce: Bride-to-Be Left Waiting in an Empty Ballroom for Three Hours.

The attached photos had been taken covertly by one of the guests. The rented dress, the empty head table, and me sitting there alone, forcing a smile as I raised a glass to toast the remaining crowd.

The comments were merciless.

Renting a gown for an engagement? How pathetic. Why try so hard to climb into a family like that?

This is hilarious. Stood up in front of two hundred people, and she still tried to cover for him by saying he was on a business trip.

Winner of the most pathetic partner of the year.

I turned off my phone. Two minutes later, it rang again. It wasn't Connor; it was his mother.

"Jane, dear, I wanted to discuss something with you." Her tone was far more polite than usual, the kind of forced politeness that makes your skin crawl. "Don't worry about those online posts. I'm trying to get them taken down."

"They won't go away, Mrs. Holden."

"Well, then we'll handle this another way." She paused. "To be honest, Jane, when Fiona returned from abroad last year, she was hesitating about committing to Connor. So Connor had to find a way to nudge her."

"What way?"

"By setting up an engagement with someone else, just to give her that final push."

My ears rang. "So the engagement was a lie?"

"Not a lie, exactly... just a gesture. A temporary arrangement."

I looked down at the simple silver band on my finger. It had cost thirty dollars at a small artisan alley. I had picked it out, buying a matching pair. He had worn his for two days before taking it off. I had worn mine for three years.

"Mrs. Holden, I was the one who printed those two hundred invitations. I was the one who paid the deposit for the ballroom."

"Connor will pay you back."

"When?"

"Once things settle down for him financially. By the way, Jane, about the twenty thousand dollars you lent his company"

"What about it?"

"Things are really tight with the business right now. Do you think you could..."

I hung up before she could finish the sentence.

I checked our joint savings account on my banking app.

Balance: zero.

The last transaction was three days ago, the day he registered his marriage with Fiona. He had withdrawn twelve thousand dollars. The transaction note read: Honeymoon Fund.

That money was what I had earned from working freelance over the last six months. He had told me a joint account would make things easier once we married, that it would be our shared asset. And I had believed him.

My phone buzzed. It was Sarah. "Jane, I can't keep this from you anymore."

She sent a screenshot of a group chat named Connor's Campaign Crew. Connor had sent a message the night before the engagement dinner: Once tomorrow's performance is over, we're done. Keep your mouths shut around Jane.

The replies were lined up.

Copy that.

Brilliant, man.

Can't believe she actually fell for it.

The last message was from Connor: a laughing emoji.

Sarah added: I'm so sorry. I only found out yesterday that you were actually left waiting there. He told everyone you were just helping him run the event as a favor. If you have nowhere to stay, come to my place.

I stared at that screenshot for a long time. The laughing emoji.

At nine that night, Connor finally called.

"Jane, don't take what my mother said to heart. She doesn't know how to phrase things properly."

"What about the group chat screenshot?"

A three-second silence. "Who showed you that? It was just my friends fooling around."

"The laughing emoji was also just fooling around?"

He let out a heavy sigh, his tone sharp with irritation. "Jane, can you please stop obsessing over such minor things? I told you I'd explain everything when I get back."

"You always say that."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

I held the phone, silent. He waited, his tone softening slightly. "Just calm down, alright? It's not what you think. Let's talk in person."

Connor didn't show up until three days later. Fiona was right behind him as he pushed the door open. She slipped into her slippers and curled up on the sofa as if she had never left.

I stood by the guest room door, watching them.

He glanced at the packed suitcase in the room. "Looks like you've made up your mind. I found a small studio apartment for you, fully furnished. I'll cover the deposit and the first three months of rent."

"I put eight thousand dollars toward the down payment of this place."

"I'll pay you back later."

"What about the twelve thousand from our joint account?"

"Fiona needed to book the flights and hotels. Consider it a loan."

"And the twenty thousand I lent your company?"

"The business is strapped right now. You'll have to wait."

I looked at him, realizing his eyes didn't even flinch as he said those words. He believed he was being perfectly reasonable.

My gaze drifted to Fiona's neck. She was wearing a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. I had saved up for two months to buy him that necklace for his birthday. He had told me the style was too feminine and refused to wear it. Now it was around her neck.

"I bought that necklace."

Fiona touched the pendant, looking at Connor. "Connor, didn't you say you bought this for me?"

He frowned. "It's just a necklace, Jane. Let's focus on the important things."

I didn't sit down.

He sighed. "I know you've sacrificed a lot for me and the company over the last three years, and I appreciate it. But we can't force feelings. Once Fiona came back, I realized I couldn't let her go."

"So you married her three days before our engagement dinner."

"She finally agreed to settle down, and the timing was tight. I couldn't delay it."

"But you could let me wait for three hours without a single phone call?"

He looked away, his voice quiet. "That was my mistake."

Fiona gently tugged at his sleeve. "Connor..."

He patted her hand comfortingly. I knew that gesture too well. He used to pat my hand the exact same way, telling me everything would be fine.

I let out a quiet laugh. "Fine. I'll take my things. You can keep the rest."

He seemed startled. "You... aren't going to demand an explanation?"

"You just gave me one."

I turned, walked into the guest room, and shut the door.

Through the wood, I could hear their muffled voices. Fiona chuckled softly. "See, Connor? I told you she wouldn't make things difficult for us."

He replied quietly: "That's just how she is. She won't make a scene. Don't worry."

That's just how she is. She won't make a scene.

I turned off my phone, knelt down, and pulled my suitcase from under the bed. It had been with me for three years, its corners scuffed and the zipper temperamental.

I packed my clothes, placing the faded floral dress on top. I didn't have much to carry anyway. Within thirty minutes, everything was packed.

I took off my house keys and set them on the entryway table. I unclasped the silver band from my finger and left it beside them. Fiona was wearing my mother's silver bracelet. I didn't ask for it back. Perhaps that was the last trace of my existence in this apartment.

I didn't look back as the door closed. I walked down and hailed a cab.

Before turning my phone off, I sent one final message: The keys are on the table. Don't contact me again.

Then I went to the carrier store, canceled the number, and got a new SIM card.

When Connor returned to the apartment that evening, he saw the keys and the ring. He pushed open the guest room door, finding nothing but an empty bed.

He frowned and dialed my number.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."