He Took the Wrong Turn on Our Wedding Day Chapter 03

He Took the Wrong Turn on Our Wedding Day Chapter 03

Grant didn’t even bother checking his dashcam. He took Bianca’s word as gospel.

But the police pulled the intersection footage. The truth was glaringly obvious.

Bianca had slammed on the gas instead of the brake.

Since they couldn’t prove criminal intent, she avoided jail time. But her license was suspended.

She was slapped with a hefty fine.

When we walked out of the police precinct, Grant’s face was made of stone.

“Are you happy now? Suspending her license doesn’t fix anything. She panicked. People make mistakes.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue.

When I got back to our condo, the deadbolt was thrown from the inside.

I tried my key. It wouldn’t turn.

Grant had locked me out.

His voice came through the heavy wood. “Bianca’s in a really bad place right now. She’s trying to rest. Just come back later. She has a panic attack every time she hears your voice.”

I stood in the hallway, staring at my own front door. My nails dug into my palms.

We had picked this condo out together.

But my parents were the ones who put down the massive deposit so I wouldn’t drown in a mortgage.

Because of that, my name was the only one on the deed.

Yet here I was, locked out of my own home.

Inside, the space had already been reshaped around Bianca anyway—her favorite candles, her throw pillows, her comfort.

It hadn’t really been mine in a long time.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, then I was wiping the slate clean.

I pulled up my phone, called my real estate agent, and listed the condo. The next day, Grant reached out.

Maybe some part of him still felt guilty.

“Your mom needs an orthopedic specialist for her leg. I know a great one. I’ll drive you.”

My first instinct was to say no.

But then I thought about my mom’s leg, and I hesitated.

The doctors had warned there could be permanent damage.

Worst case, she’d walk with a limp for the rest of her life.

I couldn’t let that happen to her.

If there was even a chance of helping her, I had to take it.

So I said yes.

He kept us waiting. Again.

I called him over and over.

“Grant, where are you? Are you coming or not?”

He couldn’t keep doing this to us.

My mom sat in her wheelchair, sweat beading across her forehead.

Grant brushed me off. “Just give me a minute,” he said.

He had to drop Bianca off at her place first.

He’d come for us after.

By the time his SUV finally pulled up, we’d been waiting for hours.

I carefully helped my mom into the passenger seat.

The second she was settled, Grant’s phone rang. It was Bianca. She was crying.

“Grant, I messed up a huge work account, and my boss is screaming at me. I’m alone at the office and I’m scared. Can you please come?”

Grant didn’t even hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

He pulled onto the shoulder of the highway, shoved a business card into my hand, and unlocked the doors. “An emergency came up with Bianca. You’ll have to take your mom yourself.”

I couldn’t process what I was hearing.

“Grant, we’re on the side of a busy highway. I can’t even get an Uber out here. At least drive us to the next exit.”

He wasn’t even listening.

He said he’d look, then barely glanced out the window.

His screen lit up with another text. He snapped.

“Bianca can’t handle this kind of pressure on her own. Just figure it out, Serena.”

I didn’t move.

When my body caught up to my brain, I grabbed the car door.

“Grant, you can’t just leave us here. My mom’s surgical incisions haven’t healed; she can’t be out in this heat.”

I was still hoping.

I hoped he’d think about me, just this once.

I wasn’t asking for much.

Just drive us to the intersection up ahead, where I could actually flag a ride.

None of this should’ve been happening to my parents.

Grant had already gone back on his word, refusing to pay a single dime of the medical bills he had promised to cover.

Not a cent had come through.

I practically begged him. He just pried my fingers off the car doorframe.

“You’ll catch a ride. You’re strong, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”

He dragged the wheelchair out of the trunk, hoisted my injured mother out of the car, and left her sitting on the dusty curb.

Then he shut the door and drove away.

All he left behind was exhaust fumes and dust.