Our Roads Diverge

While fixing my bowtie before the engagement banquet, Michelle led in a broke junior. Martin spilled something. Let him borrow your custom tux, she said flatly. You're the star anyway; it doesn't matter what you wear.

Beside the nervous boy in faded sneakers, my best friend James blocked them. Are you kidding? Declan went to thirty tailors for that!

Michelle shot me the look. For five years, I caved every time. I pushed James aside, setting down my cufflinks. "Let him wear it."

She smiled, caressing my cheek. "I knew you were the bigger person. For our wedding, I'll buy you the most expensive suit in the world." Martin changed into my tux. Michelle smoothed his lapel, whispering, "You look so handsome, Ro."

I recognized the gesture. During our photoshoot, she'd refused to do the same for me, calling it cheesy. I slid the platinum engagement ring off my finger.

This time, I was done being the bigger person.

...

"Who is this handsome young man? Look at how sharp he is dressed!"

Michelle's aunt was standing by the adjacent table, grabbing Martin's hands and looking him up and down with obvious approval.

Martin kept his head bowed, but a small, satisfied smile crept onto his lips.

Before he could even respond, Michelle seamlessly jumped into the conversation.

"He is a junior from my university. His family's financial situation isn't great, and his clothes got ruined. Declan felt so bad for him that he offered his own custom tux."

Her aunt nodded approvingly, then shot a highly critical glance in my direction.

"Then why is Declan dressed like that? It is his engagement party. He looks incredibly plain."

"Oh, he doesn't care about these superficial things."

Michelle answered for me without missing a beat, naturally reaching out to link her arm through mine.

"Our Declan is incredibly generous."

As her hand reached out, I casually took a half-step to the side. Her hand grabbed empty air.

"What is wrong?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

I looked down at the carpet.

"Nothing."

James grabbed me by the forearm and physically dragged me away, pulling me around the corner into a quiet hallway.

"Are you seriously just going to let this happen?!"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"You walk right back out there and announce to the entire room that he is wearing your clothes, and that kid is not her fianc. You are!"

I looked at his bloodshot, furious eyes.

"James. You are angrier than I am."

"Of course I am angry!" James's voice cracked. "Do you have any idea what the people at her table are whispering about?"

He pulled out his phone and opened a video.

It was filmed by one of Michelle's college friends.

In the frame, Martin was wearing my custom tuxedo, standing proudly on Michelle's right side. Her hand was resting affectionately on his shoulder.

Someone off-camera cheered, "The fianc looks amazing!"

Martin looked down, his cheeks flushing deep red.

He didn't deny it.

Michelle didn't deny it either. She just laughed brightly and waved her hand dismissively.

There was a top comment under the video: Michelle's fianc is so sweet and innocent.

It had over thirty likes. Not a single person corrected them.

I swallowed the bitter taste in the back of my throat, closed the video, and handed the phone back to James.

A fresh wave of loud laughter erupted from the banquet hall.

People were dragging Martin around to toast the tables. He handled it perfectly, holding his champagne glass low and leaning in respectfully.

I taught him that posture.

Last month, he told me he was terrified of attending his first formal networking event. He asked me how to properly toast executives. I spent an entire afternoon practicing with him.

"Call me an Uber, James."

"You are not going back in?"

"There is nothing left to go back to."

I walked over to the welcome table near the entrance. I placed the platinum engagement ring right next to the leather guestbook.

There was a thin layer of dust on the table. The heavy ring landed with a soft, hollow clink.

My phone lit up.

It was an Instagram post from Michelle.

Thank you everyone for coming tonight.

She attached three photos.

One wide shot of the grand ballroom, one of her clinking glasses with her girlfriends, and the last one... Martin, wearing my tailored tuxedo, smiling radiantly at the camera.

She tagged Martin.

The caption read: Thank you, Ro, for helping me entertain the guests. You worked so hard tonight.

There was not a single mention of me in the entire post.

Not even my name.

I locked my screen.

When I crossed the street, the massive chandeliers in the banquet hall were still glowing brightly.

Even from this far away, I could still hear the faint bass of the music and the muffled laughter.

Right before I got into the Uber, I looked back one last time.

Michelle was standing on the grand marble steps of the hotel, looking down at her phone.

Martin walked up behind her and gently draped a suit jacket over her bare shoulders.

She reached up and naturally pulled the collar tighter around herself.

It looked completely effortless.

"Declan, you left your ring on the welcome table."

At two in the morning, Michelle finally called. Her voice was totally relaxed, completely unbothered.

"I know."

"Well, I put it in my purse for safekeeping. I will put it back on you tomorrow."

She paused, intentionally softening her tone.

"I know you felt a little slighted today. But Martin ruining his clothes was a total accident. Everyone saw how generous you were to lend him your suit."

"Michelle. Let's break up."

The line went completely dead for three full seconds.

Then, she actually laughed.

"Declan, I know you were annoyed today, but throwing a tantrum and bringing up a breakup? Really?"

"I am completely serious."

"You do this every single time you throw a fit." She lowered her voice, using the practiced, patient tone of someone talking to a toddler. "Alright, fine. When you are done pouting, call me, and I will come see you."

"Michelle..."

"Declan, behave. Tomorrow I will take you to that omakase place you have been wanting to try."

I didn't say anything else.

After a few seconds of silence, her tone dropped, turning cold.

"Declan, it has been five years. When have you ever actually had the guts to leave me?"

She said it so quietly, but I didn't have an answer.

She genuinely did not believe it. She did not believe I could ever walk away.

I hung up.

James walked out of the kitchen with a glass of water and sat heavily across from me.

"What did she say?"

"She said she will come see me."

"Are you going to see her?"

"No."

He looked like he wanted to scream at me, but checking my expression, he swallowed his words.

I stared at the black screen of my phone.

Her name was at the very top of my call log. The contact name was still the one I saved five years ago: "Michelle" with a little sun emoji next to it.

We had just started dating.

She waited for me outside my dorm building, clutching a warm water bottle against her chest.

The November wind was brutal, and her cheeks were flushed a deep, beautiful pink.

She told me my roommate mentioned my hands always cracked and bled in the winter, and that I just powered through it while drawing architectural drafts late at night.

I told her not to bother, that guys didn't use cute little water bottles. It was embarrassing.

She just laughed, shoved the warm bottle into my hands, and wrapped her fingers over my freezing ones.

When you are with me, you do not have to pretend to be tough. If you are cold or exhausted, you tell me.

Her eyes were so bright back then. Just looking at her made me feel incredibly safe.

James suddenly broke the silence.

"Do you even remember when she started changing?"

I thought about it for a long time.

"I don't remember."

Maybe it was the first time Martin showed up, crying that he couldn't afford his tuition.

Maybe it was the very first time she told me to "just be the bigger person."

The change was a slow poison.

She took away just a tiny fraction of her love every single day. By the time I finally turned around to look, there was absolutely nothing left.

James pulled a blanket off the couch and tossed it over me.

"Do not go back to that apartment. Just crash here."

"Yeah."

At 3:00 AM, my phone lit up with another call from her.

The screen glowed for three seconds before going dark.

She didn't try calling back.

Because in her reality, my tantrums only lasted one night. Once the sun came up, I would quietly pack my pride and go back home.

Just like I had every single time before.

I manually swiped away the missed call notification.

For the first time in five years.

"James, get out of the way and let me in."

Late the next afternoon, Michelle was standing outside James's front door, holding a white bakery bag.

James stood dead center in the doorway, blocking her path.

"He does not want to see you."

"I know he is throwing a fit." She offered a casual, dismissive smile. "Just let me in so I can say two sentences to him, and then I will leave."

"Say what? Explain why you couldn't even bother to put his name in your Instagram post?"

Michelle's smile vanished instantly.

"James, this is between Declan and me."

"Don't call him Declan like you own him. He is Mr. Wright to you."

I walked up to the door and put a hand on James's arm, pressing it down.

"James, let her in. I will talk to her face to face."

James stepped aside, glaring daggers at her, looking her up and down with absolute disgust.

She slipped off her shoes, walked inside, and placed the white paper bag on the coffee table.

It was a slice of cake.

"Your favorite tiramisu. I didn't get a chance to give it to you yesterday."

I didn't even touch the box.

She sat down on the armchair across from me.

"Declan, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"I already told you. We are done."

Her eyebrows pulled together in deep frustration.

"You are breaking off an engagement over a rented tuxedo?"

"It is not about the tuxedo."

"Then what is it about?" She crossed her legs and leaned forward, clasping her hands together. It was the exact same posture she took every time we argued. She was treating me like a patient, tolerating my outburst until I ran out of breath.

"Last year on my birthday, I booked a reservation at a Michelin-star restaurant two months in advance. Right as we were leaving, Martin called. He said his stomach hurt. You drove straight to his apartment."

"He was completely alone. What if it was appendicitis?"

"When you got there, you realized he just ate too much takeout. And then you sat on his couch and watched movies with him until midnight. I sat alone in that restaurant until they turned the lights off."

She hesitated for a split second.

"Didn't I apologize for that? I even bought you that designer watch to make up for it."

"You bought him the exact same watch, didn't you?"

"He was going through a really depressive episode at the time..."

"He is always going through a depressive episode." My voice dropped lower, steady and completely hollow. "When is he ever actually happy?"

Michelle fell completely silent.

"Last month, I had a massive business trip. You told me to take an Uber to the airport because you had to drive Martin to his campus orientation."

She opened her mouth defensively. "He had four massive suitcases..."

"You gave him our winter quilt. The one my mother shipped to us from our hometown."

"That old thing was practically falling apart. I told you I would buy you a brand new silk one."

"That was mine! My mother wore her reading glasses and hand-stitched that quilt for an entire week. When she mailed it, she wrapped it in three layers of industrial plastic so the post office wouldn't damage the threading!"

The living room went dead silent.

James was standing by the kitchen island, his knuckles completely white from gripping the marble counter.

I didn't say another word.

In the past, I would have chased her with questions. I would have cried and asked her why she was doing this to me. And the second she said, "I am sorry," I would have forgiven her instantly.

But this time, I was just completely and utterly exhausted.

"Declan," Michelle said, her voice dropping into a tone of profound, subtle disappointment.

"I always thought you were different from the rest of them."

"Them?"

"People who hold grudges over petty, meaningless things." She frowned, looking at me with dead seriousness.

"I thought you understood me. Martin has absolutely no one in this world to rely on. You have me. You have a loving family. You have money. You don't lack anything... So I took care of him a little bit. Is that really a crime?"

She spoke with absolute sincerity. She genuinely believed every single word coming out of her mouth.

"You have everything in the world. Can you not just show a little grace to someone who has absolutely nothing?"

I stared at her.

I stared at her for a very long time.

There was actual anticipation in her eyes. She was waiting for me to nod and say, "You are right," just like I always did.

But of all the things I supposedly had in this world, one of them was supposed to be Michelle.

She was systematically packing up every piece of her love and moving it into another man's life, and then she had the nerve to ask me why I felt empty.

"You are right, Michelle. I have everything."

She let out a visible sigh of relief.

"Which means I do not need you either."

The relief vanished from her face instantly.

"Declan."

"You never used to be this cruel."

I didn't answer.

She stood up abruptly, grabbed her purse, pulled the front door open, and marched out.

My eyes drifted down to the white bakery box on the table.

Tiramisu.

She had already forgotten.

I stopped eating tiramisu a year ago.

[Billing Point]

The tailored suit in the mirror looked flawless.

My mother stood behind me, gently adjusting the bowtie. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as she smiled warmly.

"When is Michelle getting here? I haven't seen that girl in half a year."

I glanced down at my phone screen.

Michelle had texted me ten minutes ago.

Martin lost the data for his graduation thesis. He is having a panic attack in his professor's office. I have to go handle it.

Just try the suit on yourself. Explain the situation to your mom. She always loved me; I know she will understand. I booked a reservation at her favorite seafood place tonight to make it up to her.

My mother just had minimally invasive heart surgery last month. I hadn't told her anything about what was happening with Michelle.

I locked my screen and turned around, forcing a bright smile.

"Mom, her firm called an emergency board meeting. She can't make it."

My mother paused for a second, then patted my hand affectionately.

"Her career comes first! It is a good thing for a young woman to be ambitious. You look incredibly handsome anyway. Come on, let Mom take a few pictures."

Click.

In the photo, I was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, smiling for the camera, but there was absolutely no light left in my eyes.

After I put my mother on the high-speed train back to our hometown, I drove straight to James's apartment.

Sitting on his couch, I dialed the wedding planner.

"Hello. The reservation I made for the Crystal Lake Chapel. Cancel it."

The line went quiet for a moment.

"Mr. Wright, that venue has an eight-month waiting list. The thirty-thousand-dollar deposit is strictly non-refundable. Are you absolutely certain?"

"I am certain."

"But you drove out there over a dozen times. You checked every single detail. Our lead designer said she had never seen a groom put so much heart into..."

"Just cancel it. Thank you."

I hung up the phone.

James was sitting on the other end of the couch.

"You are really doing this?"

"Yeah."

That chapel was thirty miles outside the city limits. There was no subway access. You had to take two separate buses and hike for twenty minutes to get there.

I chose it because it was built right on the edge of a massive, pristine lake.

Five years ago, on our very first road trip, we found that lake. I spent an entire afternoon taking photos of her by the water.

That day, she was the happiest I had ever seen her. She threw her arms around my neck and whispered that this lake was our secret sanctuary.

I spent months fighting with the designers over the venue blueprints.

I chose white magnolias for the centerpieces because her mother loved elegant, minimalist flowers.

The string quartet was instructed to play the exact instrumental track that was playing in the coffee shop on our first date.

I hand-drew the seating chart. I color-coded it. Pink ink for her guests, blue ink for mine.

I purposefully placed her college roommate, who had a severe phobia of heights, at a window seat on the ground floor.

Michelle never asked about a single one of these details. Not once.

"Declan, if you need to cry, just cry. I am not going to judge you," James said quietly.

I shook my head.

I ran out of tears a long time ago.

...

When Michelle finally called James, he was at his office grinding through architectural drafts.

"Declan's phone is turned off. Pass a message to him for me."

James slowly put his pen down.

"What is it?"

"Martin is taking his graduation photos next month. He wants a unique backdrop."

Her tone was incredibly casual, like she was asking him to pick up milk from the grocery store.

"I suddenly remembered the chapel Declan booked. The lake view is gorgeous. Tell him to call the venue and let Martin borrow the grounds for the afternoon."

James gripped his phone, his knuckles turning stark white.

"Michelle."

"That venue is already canceled."