He Thought I’d Beg, Until I Cancelled Our Engagement Chapter 08

My money was out of our joint account.

Then I emailed Ethan the account breakdown and proof that I returned his parents‘ wedding contribution.

He called from another new number.

“You’re even returning my parents‘ wedding money? Do you have to reduce five years to numbers?”

“Half the money in the account was mine. The wedding contribution came from your parents I only kept what belonged to me.‘

His breathing grew heavier. “That money was for our wedding!”

“There isn’t going to be a wedding.”

“Do you really have to make such a clean break?”

I hung up without answering.

Five minutes later, sixty thousand dollars hit my bank account.

The transfer was for the startup money I scraped together when his business was at its worst.

I lived on plain boiled vegetables to afford it. That was when my stomach problems started.

He texted me.

[Sixty thousand. Principal and interest. I owed you back then. If I pay you back now, does that make

us even?]

I looked at the string of zeros and sent the money back through the bank app.

The memo was one sentence: [I gave it willingly back then, and I don’t need anything in return.]

More devastating than any demand was the fact that I didn’t even want to settle old debts

anymore.

Two weeks later, the Pittsburgh project was a resounding success, and I was officially named

branch director.

At the celebration dinner, Daniel raised his glass.

“Claire, without you, no one could’ve cleaned up that mess.”

“To the past. And to what’s next.”

Meanwhile, in Chicago.

Ethan sat in the apartment, staring at the notification that I returned his money, his eyes bloodshot.

He got up to pour water and knocked loose a sheet of paper stuck in the printer for two weeks

It was my wedding schedule. Every item had a note beside it.

[Ethan doesn’t eat onions. Remind the hotel three times.]

[Mom has a bad back. Get her a padded chair.]

[His sister doesn’t eat cilantro. Change the cold appetizer.]

Even Natalie had an entry.

[Recent breakup. Don’t put her on the spot during the toasts.]

The last line was mine.

[Bride: Coordinate everything.]

No dietary restrictions. No notes.

I remembered everyone else. I didn’t leave a single line for what I needed.

He stood by the printer for a long time, gripping that sheet.

The doorbell rang. His mother and sister.

His mother started complaining as soon as she came in.

“It’s been over two weeks. Is Claire still playing hard to get?”

“We’re getting together tomorrow. Without her, who’s going to order the food? Who’s going to

host?”

“Go get her back already!”

Ethan looked up, grabbed the glass from the table, and smashed it on the floor.

Glass scattered.

His mother jumped. “Ethan, have you lost your mind?”

He stared at them.

“Who gave you the idea she was your unpaid maid?”

“What made you think she didn’t even deserve a seat at the table?”

No one spoke.

His sister protested quietly. “Ethan, you can’t blame us for this…”

“Who else am I supposed to blame?”

“Yourself!” she shouted back. “You’re the one who always said Claire was born to wait on people You dumped every mess in this family on her. And you said we didn’t have to worry about her feelings because she’d get over it on her own!”

The living room went dead silent.

His sister’s eyes turned red. “We took our cue from you. You didn’t treat her like an equal partner. Why would you expect us to respect her?”

Ethan went white and collapsed onto the sofa.

His family’s contempt didn’t come out of nowhere.

He created it himself, every time he threw me under the bus.

His hands shook as he opened the family group text, the one with his seating chart.

[I was blind. From now on, anyone who bad–mouths Claire behind her back has a problem with me.]

[Natalie, don’t come to any more Cole family dinners. You don’t get to make my fiancée miserable because you went through a breakup.]

No one in the group replied.

Natalie, usually so quick to play innocent in the chat, went completely silent.