He Picked Up Another Woman on Our Wedding Day Chapter 07

He Picked Up Another Woman on Our Wedding Day Chapter 07

The officiant asked again, “Should we keep the parents’ handoff? Move the blessing toast to after the ceremony?”

Those words—parents’ handoff, blessing toast—came through the phone, and Ryan instinctively looked at the front door.

It was still closed. Neither of my parents had come down.

The coordinator opened her tablet and pulled up the original schedule for him. Every section had “Natalie Moore” written beside it. Now those sections were all empty.

The groom’s relatives were already waiting at the venue. Someone messaged:

“Why isn’t the bride here yet? Did the convoy get stuck?”

Ryan stared at that message, his thumb frozen over the screen.

Shelby stood nearby and said quietly, “Maybe I should go to the venue and explain. Tell them you got delayed.”

The coordinator glanced at her, then looked away. A few relatives looked toward the lead car, where Shelby was still standing, clutching the spare bouquet.

The officiant was still on the line. “Mr. Bennett, if the bride’s parents aren’t doing the handoff, we’ll need to rewrite the groom’s entrance.”

Ryan’s throat moved. “Hold on.”

“How long?”

He couldn’t answer—the door upstairs hadn’t opened.

The family chat had no one defending him anymore.

The coordinator turned her tablet toward him. “If the wedding is canceled, we need to notify the venue to start striking some of the decor now to avoid additional charges.”

Ryan looked up. She added, “Ms. Moore has already confirmed.”

“When?”

“A few minutes ago.” He gripped his phone.

The coordinator pulled up the message I’d sent her.

[Pickup footage, parents’ handoff, blessing toast—all canceled.]

[Wedding continuation to be determined separately.]

Ryan stared at those three items. His thumb didn’t swipe away.

The venue staff sent a photo of the head table. Two chair sashes still said “Bride’s Parents,” the glasses set in place. Staff asked if they should clear them. No one answered.

The groom’s relatives stood at the welcome table, still holding wedding favors, unsure whether to hand them out.

The welcome screen still scrolled Natalie Moore and Ryan Bennett.

Someone handed the ceremony cards to the officiant, then quickly took them back.

The aisle was empty. The flower columns stood on both sides.

The officiant wrote in the group:

[If the bride isn’t walking from her parents, the opening script has to change entirely.]

[Groom please confirm.]

Ryan stared at the word “confirm.” His thumb didn’t press down.

The venue called again—this time it was his mother.

“Ryan, what’s going on? All the relatives are here. Where’s the bride’s family?”

Ryan opened his mouth, but no words came. The venue had already grayed out the “Pickup Footage” slot on the schedule.

The main screen switched to a static wedding logo, the red background bright and harsh. But there was no footage of me coming out of my house.

Because my father’s message from earlier was still pinned in the family chat:

[No one needs to come up today.]

And the GPS screenshot from the drivers’ chat—the one showing the lead car detoured to Shelby’s—still hadn’t been deleted.

The officiant’s opening lines were stuck on the very first sentence. He asked one final question: “Where do we start the groom’s entrance?”

Ryan looked at the empty slot for the parents’ handoff and didn’t answer for a long time.

That day’s wedding never moved forward.

When the venue started taking down the welcome screen, Ryan was still standing downstairs. The convoy hadn’t moved.

Shelby eventually called a ride. Before leaving, she asked, “Ryan, do you want to go to the venue and handle things first?”

Ryan didn’t answer.

He ordered a new bouquet and called the coordinator. “Can we reshoot the pickup tomorrow?”

The coordinator paused. “Mr. Bennett, we can film the footage. But the pickup ceremony isn’t something you can reshoot and pretend happened.”

He hung up and messaged me again.

[Natalie, let’s do it over. New car. New bouquet. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.]

I saw those messages. I didn’t reply.

The coordinator later forwarded his request: [Mr. Bennett said he can arrange a full reshoot. Time and place based on your availability.]

I replied with two words: [Not needed.]

She paused, then sent one more: [He said he can come up and knock himself.]

I looked at those words and remembered the adhesive residue still on the door—where my father had peeled off the wedding decal.

I didn’t reply. She didn’t push.

She’d also seen that white parasol downstairs.

The one no one ever opened.