We were finally just one week away from the wedding I had dreamed of for two whole years. No more changing dates, no more waiting. I thought we were really going to do it this time.
But that night, everything flipped upside down.
I found Wade in the garage—curled up on the floor, crying like I’d never seen before. In his arms, he held a small red jacket. One I’d never seen before.
“It’s his,” he whispered through sobs.
And just like that, everything changed.
I swear I’m not ungrateful.
When Wade proposed to me two years ago, it was a cold October morning. His hands shook like leaves in the wind. His voice cracked as he knelt down and opened the velvet box. The ring inside sparkled like a tiny promise.
He looked right at me and said, “Forever, Em. I want forever with you.”
I didn’t even hesitate. I said yes on the spot. I believed him with everything I had.
But now? Some nights, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if he ever really meant it.
Two years had passed. Two long years of planning and canceling. Of saving the dates, only to cross them out later. Every time we got close, something came up.
“Money’s tight, babe,” he’d say, kissing my forehead like that would make it okay.
Or he’d say, “Forecast says rain—can’t risk the whole thing being a washout.”
There was always something—his aunt’s broken hip, his grandma’s dizzy spells, flu season, farm chores. Even one time he looked at me and said, “It’s not a perfect date, for God’s sake.”
The excuses piled up like dead leaves in the wind. I started to feel buried underneath them.
But this time, everything was set. The venue was booked. The church confirmed. The invitations had gone out. Wade’s father—gruff old Dale, who barely showed emotion—had even pulled him aside and said, “Son, you stallin’ long enough. Don’t let her slip through your fingers.”
And for once, I really thought Wade was ready. That morning, he made pancakes, humming as he flipped them. He kissed my cheek and whispered, “Almost there, Em.”
But something was off.
All day, he barely spoke. Moved like a ghost in our home. I caught him staring out the window, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.
That night, I woke up to a strange sound.
Not a bang. Not even footsteps. Just… a quiet, stuttering breath. Like someone crying but trying not to.
I threw on Wade’s old flannel shirt—it still smelled like him, cedar and soap—and walked softly down the hall. The garage light was on. A thin yellow line glowed beneath the door.
I paused, heart racing. Then I heard it.
Crying.
Not a sniffle. Not a few tears. This was the kind of sobbing that comes from deep inside, like something was breaking open.
I pushed the door open slowly.
Wade was on the floor, curled up like a lost child. He was holding something tightly against his chest. His shoulders shook with every cry.
“Wade?” I said, my voice shaky.
He didn’t look up. He just rocked slightly, like he didn’t even hear me.
I stepped closer. That’s when I saw what he was holding: a tiny red jacket. Worn and faded. The sleeves were frayed, like they’d been chewed on.
“What… what is that?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
He finally looked up. His face was soaked in tears. His cheeks were blotchy, and his eyes looked far away.
“It’s his,” he said.
“Whose?”
“My little brother’s. It’s Adam’s.”
We sat on the cold floor of the garage for a long time. Neither of us said anything. The chill climbed up my legs, but I stayed there with him.
Eventually, Wade’s breathing calmed a little. Then, in a quiet voice like gravel, he said, “He was seven.”
My heart jumped. “Who?”
“Adam,” he whispered again. “My little brother.”
I blinked. “You… never told me you had a brother.”
He stared down at the floor. Gripping the jacket even tighter.
“That’s because I didn’t.”
I frowned. “Wait… what?”
His voice came out like a bitter laugh, sharp and dry.
“It’s taboo in my family. After the accident, no one ever spoke his name again. Not once. It was like he… vanished.”
He stared into the distance, like he wasn’t even in the room anymore.
“We were playing by the river. Just the two of us. Skipping rocks, seeing who could throw farther. I dared him to cross the log bridge. I told him it would be fine.”
He stopped. Took a deep, painful breath.
“I was supposed to hold his hand. But I let go.”
His whole body shook as the memory surfaced. His voice cracked like glass.
“I let go.”
I didn’t say anything. What could I say?
He kept going, voice soft and raw.
“I thought I buried it. All of it. But today I was cleaning out Dad’s old workshop and found a box. I wasn’t even looking for anything. I opened it and… the jacket was just there.”
He brushed his fingers over the red fabric like it was something holy.
“I don’t know how it got there. But the second I saw it, it all came back.”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, like a kid trying to hide his tears.
“We made a promise,” he said. “We were going to be best men at each other’s weddings.”
Then he turned to me. Eyes full of sorrow and guilt that had never left.
“That’s why I kept postponing. Getting married… felt like leaving him behind.”
I reached out and took his hand. It was trembling.
“Come to bed,” I whispered. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
He nodded, tired and heavy. As he gently placed the jacket back in the box, I saw the way his fingers lingered. Like a part of him still lived inside that memory.
The next morning, Wade sat at the kitchen table, stirring his coffee without drinking it. The spoon tapped against the mug, over and over, like a slow clock ticking down.
He finally said, barely louder than a whisper, “I think we should move the wedding.”
My fork slipped out of my hand and clattered against the plate.
“Again?” I asked, too sharp. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.
He didn’t even flinch. He just kept staring into the cup.
“I just… need more time. The dreams are back.”
I could see the tears starting again. I swallowed my frustration and walked over to kiss his forehead.
“I understand,” I said.
But inside, something broke.
That afternoon, I drove to his parents’ house.
I thought maybe if I explained things to them, they could help.
Bonnie opened the door with her usual sweet smile and iced tea in hand.
“We’re going to postpone the wedding,” I said carefully. “Wade’s not ready. He’s still dealing with memories of his brother.”
She blinked in confusion.
“His what?”
“His little brother. Adam.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Emily… Wade never had a brother.”
I drove home with my hands gripping the wheel so hard they turned white.
My heart pounded in my chest. The engine noise faded behind the roar in my ears.
No brother?
No Adam?
No accident?
What was real?
I walked into the house quietly. Wade was on the couch, the TV showing a blank screensaver. He looked lost.
“No brother?” I asked.
He turned slowly. His eyes were wide. Scared.
“Emily… I—”
“It was all a lie?” I asked, my voice cracking. “The crying? The story? That jacket?”
He looked down, ashamed.
“I don’t know why I did it,” he said. “I panicked. I felt the walls closing in. I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to lie to me? To manipulate me?”
He covered his face. “I just… couldn’t handle the pressure. Everyone kept asking. You kept believing in me. And I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t ready.”
I stepped back.
“Two years, Wade. I gave you everything—patience, understanding. And you gave me a lie.”
He cried, “I’m sorry. I’m ready now. Let’s get married. I promise, Emily.”
I nodded. But I already knew what was coming.
The church was filled with flowers and sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. People were seated. Wade stood at the altar, eyes scanning the aisle.
Waiting.
But the music never started.
Then I stepped in—not in a white dress, but my favorite blue one. The one with pearl buttons and a hem that swished when I walked.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Wade’s eyes lit up—hopeful.
But I didn’t smile.
I walked up to him and said, loud and clear, “There won’t be a wedding today.”
His face fell.
“I needed to believe you wanted this as much as I did,” I said. “But all you’ve shown me is fear. And doubt.”
I took a deep breath.
“I won’t marry someone who isn’t sure I’m their forever.”
He reached for me. “Emily—please—”
But I stepped back.
“I gave you years. I gave you grace. Now I give you goodbye.”
Then I turned and walked away, my heels echoing across the floor.
The sun hit my face as I stepped outside.
And I walked out, free.
