On My Wedding Day, I Married Someone Else Chapter 02

On My Wedding Day, I Married Someone Else Chapter 02

Derek grabbed the half-empty bottle of Blanton’s and drank straight from the neck.

“I’ve been with Savannah forever. She doesn’t care about that stuff. Tiffany’s different. Parents divorced. Moved here alone from the West Coast. She needs more security. She’s not like Savannah. She needs me to take care of her.”

I stood behind that metal door, not fully closed. My chest went cold. My fingers felt like they’d just come out of a freezer.

Every piece of furniture in our home—I had scoured every antique market and secondhand shop across Nashville to find it. Piece by piece.

Once, at a flea market in Franklin, I found a Victorian walnut sideboard. Twenty-five hundred. Derek’s face dropped right there.

“Twenty-five hundred for some old cabinet? You think money falls out of the sky? A new one from Target works the same.”

Later, he picked out a pressed-wood version online. Rang it up with a scowl. The receipt said $299.99.

He wasn’t cheap. His generosity just never had anything to do with me.

I drove my old Ford F-150 home with the window rolled all the way down. Humid Tennessee summer heat slammed into my face, stinging.

Three years.

Like an idiot, I wasted three whole years.

When I told him I wanted to design our home with my own hands, he lifted me up and spun me around in that empty house right after closing. Kept saying yes.

In that moment, I really believed I’d found someone who wanted to build a future with me. Someone who held my dreams close to his heart.

He remembered. He had to remember.

That night in the alley off Broadway. The man with the knife came at him, and I didn’t hesitate. I stepped in front of him.

The blade went into my back. An inch from my spine.

I was unconscious in the Vanderbilt University Medical Center ICU for three days. He sat by my bed and cried like a child, swore he’d love me for the rest of his life.

But he didn’t hold any of it in his heart.

Or maybe he did. Maybe to him, that scar was just proof he could keep taking. Proof I would never leave.

The surgeon had warned me. Emotional swings would aggravate the old injury. The chronic pain would get worse.

I tilted my head back hard, forcing the sting of tears down. But my chest felt like stone.

Derek’s call came through. Blaring country rock and pool balls in the background.

“Savannah, the guys are throwing my bachelor party tonight. Crazy Horse Bar, east side. Go to bed early, don’t wait up. Lock the doors.”

I stared at my exhausted face in the rearview mirror. Two seconds of silence.

“Okay.”

One in the morning. I swallowed two ibuprofen and still couldn’t sleep. The old wound ached. I opened Instagram.

Marcus had posted a story. Text read: “Last ride for my best man! Final blowout!”

Center frame of the nine-grid: Tiffany laughing, practically draped over Derek.

The Himalaya hung off her slender wrist. Diamonds on the bag caught the flash, blinding. Derek’s hand rested steady on her bare waist.

The comments were a war zone. All the college crew.

“Holy shit, Derek dropped serious cash.”

“These two together, that’s the real picture. Golden couple. Too bad about Savannah. She’s a good one.”

“@Derek pace yourself, don’t let Savannah see this. You forgetting how she had your back?”

Derek replied himself. His own account.

“Savannah’s not petty. She’s mature and independent. If she makes a scene over this, the wedding’s off. I’m not joking.”

No expression on my face. I turned off the screen and dropped the phone onto the carpet beside my bed.

He was sure I wouldn’t leave.

Sure I’d swallow him selling everything we built. Sure I’d swallow him buying another woman a quarter-million-dollar bag. Sure I’d swallow every excuse—we’re just friends, she needs someone to look after her.

But this time, the place where the knife went in—it finally didn’t hurt anymore.

Or maybe it had just gone numb.

I didn’t want to swallow anything ever again.

I drove myself to Vanderbilt University Medical Center for the follow-up.

“Savannah, how many times do I have to tell you? Nerve damage. Rainy days, high stress—the pain will be severe. You need family with you for consistent physical therapy. You can’t just keep toughing it out.”

Dr. Miller’s scolding washed over me. I forced my mouth into something like a smile. The appointment slip crumpled in my fist.

“I can manage on my own, doctor.”

I left the hospital. Out of nowhere, a sudden summer downpour hit—the kind that comes out of a clear sky in the South. Rain hammered the roof of my truck.

I pulled over outside Parlor Doughnuts, waiting for it to ease up.

Through the rain-streaked window, I saw him. Clear as day. Derek, smiling, holding up a spoonful of red velvet cake. Tiffany leaned in, delicate as a doll, and ate it from his hand.

The Himalaya sat beside her on the booth. Gleaming. A cold trophy.

And on her wrist—rose gold Cartier, catching the light. The same watch Derek frowned about last week. “It’s a gift for a big client. Important deal. Don’t overthink it.”