Seven Years of Marriage I Sent Myself to the Crematorium - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The wedding march began to play.

The bride and groom wore white, a symbol of purity. They stood on either side of the officiant, ready to exchange vows. Beneath the bright morning sun, their love was about to be sealed.

Clad in a flowing white gown, I stepped gracefully onto the red carpet. Surrounded by well–wishes, we were ready to welcome the happiness our futures promised.

“Wait!” Just as I reached for the rings, the church doors burst open with a loud crash. It was Asher, someone I hadn’t seen in ages.

“Please don’t marry someone else!” His eyes were red, glistening with unshed tears, as they locked onto the ring in my hand. I raised an eyebrow but calmly handed the ring to the person before me.

The bride spoke up, breaking the tension, “Mr. Whitman, Lila isn’t the bride. She’s my maid of honor.”

At that moment, Asher seemed utterly deflated, as if all the strength had been drained from him. Then, as though a spark of realization struck, a flicker of light returned to his eyes. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to disrupt your wedding.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” the bride assured him. I was surprised but quickly composed. I hadn’t expected Asher to show up here.

I was only at the wedding as a favor to my former assistant, serving as her maid of honor. Somehow, Asher got wind of it and assumed it was my wedding.

Perhaps this misunderstanding was fate’s doing. After all, we really did need to have a conversation. I was still in my white gown, the layered petals of the fabric lending a softness to my appearance.

Asher’s gaze lingered, a glimmer of admiration flickering across his eyes. Neither of us spoke at first.

“Why did you come?” I finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry. If this is too much trouble, I’ll & leave,” Asher said, almost at the same time.

We both fell silent again, the words colliding awkwardly in the air.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The tension I’d felt earlier melted away in an instant. “You did remind me, though. We still haven’t finalized the divorce paperwork. When shall we take care of that?”

Asher’s face turned ashen at my words, but he steadied himself and replied, “Whenever you’re free, I’ll go along with your schedule.”

Even so, Asher couldn’t stop looking at me, his voice trembling slightly as he asked, “Is there still… any chance for us? Even after… the divorce?”

I sighed, “There’s no future for us, Asher. We’re completely over. We met at the wrong time, which could only lead to a wrong outcome. I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes.”

His eyes reddened, and I could see his urge to cry. But the tears shed when in love were love. Those at the end of love were pointless, bringing only lingering pain.

Asher still looked grim when we walked out of the courtroom with divorce certificates in hand. His gaze lingered on me, filled with longing and sorrow.

After seven years of love, who wouldn’t be heartbroken? But it was okay. Time healed all wounds. Even if it felt unbearable now, that was just emotions taking the reins.

Two people who weren’t compatible, wouldn’t compromise for each other, and didn’t truly love one another–how could they ever have found happiness together?

I couldn’t, and neither could Asher. We couldn’t find it together. So, I set him free. And in doing so, I freed myself, too.

There was no need to torture each other until the end of our days. From now on, we would part ways, never to meet again.

THE END