My reflection in the office window tells me everything I need to know — I look like hell.
Dark circles under bloodshot eyes, tie askew, yesterday’s stubble shadowing my jaw. The signs of a man drowning in his own guilt.
Hannah’s latest text burns on my phone screen: “We need to start planning. The baby needs a real family.”
The baby.
I can’t abandon the baby. I’ve dreamed of having a family for as long as I can remember, probably because mine was so broken.
My father walked out on me and my mom when I was a newborn, leaving her to raise me alone. I swore I’d never do that to my own child.
But that means I have to tell Abigail.
The thought makes me feel physically sick. I keep imagining her reaction — the way her face will fall, the way her voice will crack.
Abigail isn’t just my fiancée; she’s my world. She stood by me through law school, through the late nights and the stress, always believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.
And now? I’ve betrayed her in the worst possible way.
My stomach lurches at the words, memories of that drunken night at the strip club flooding back.
One mistake.
That’s all it took to destroy everything I’ve built with her.
My phone buzzes again — it’s Abigail.
“Can’t wait for tonight! ❤ Should I bring the wedding venue photos to dinner?”
I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching the afternoon traffic crawl by forty stories below. The engagement ring in my desk drawer suddenly feels like a loaded gun.
“Mr. Austin?” My assistant’s voice makes me jump. “Your 3 PM appointment is here.”
“Cancel it,” I say, not turning around. “Cancel everything.”
She hesitates. “But sir, the Taylor case—”
“I said cancel it.” My voice comes out harsher than intended, making her flinch. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I just… I need time to prepare for tonight.”
After she leaves, I sat down in my chair and let my head fall on its back. Again. And again.
A few hours later, Le Petit Jardin glows like a jewel box in the evening light. Through the window, I can already see Abigail at our usual table, checking her watch. The blue dress I gave her for Christmas hugs her curves, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She looks like everything I’m about to lose.
“Mr. Austin.” The hostess greets me with a knowing smile. “Congratulations on the upcoming wedding. Your fiancée has been sharing all the exciting details.”
Tonight is supposed to be a celebration. Abigail had planned everything weeks ago — a romantic dinner to mark our eight years together, in the same restaurant where we had our first date.
But all I can think about is how I’m about to destroy her world.
I have to tell her.
The truth presses against my ribs, demanding to be let out, but the words feel impossible to say.
How do I look her in the eyes and tell her that I betrayed her? That the life we’ve spent years building together is about to collapse because of my selfishness?
Abigail spots me before I reach the table, her face lighting up with a smile that makes my chest ache.
“Vincent! You made it.” She stands, wrapping her arms around me. Her embrace is warm, familiar, and utterly undeserved.
“Of course,” I manage, my voice cracking slightly.
She sits down, her excitement palpable as she gestures toward the menu.
“I already ordered us a bottle of that Bordeaux you love. I figured tonight calls for something special.”
I nod, unable to meet her eyes as I slide into the chair across from her.
The table is set beautifully, with soft candlelight reflecting off the silverware. Abigail looks radiant, her golden hair catching the light, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
“Remember our first time here?” she asks, sliding into the booth. “You were so nervous, you knocked over the wine.”
I remember everything. The way she’d helped clean up the spill, laughing instead of being embarrassed. How she’d made me feel like I could do anything, be anyone, as long as she believed in me.
The waiter appears with a bottle of wine. “To celebrate your anniversary. It’s on the house,” he says with a knowing smile.
“And the wedding,” Abigail adds, raising her glass. “Just five more days.”
Five days. Less than a week until I’m supposed to stand before our families and friends, promising to love and cherish her forever.
“Look what I brought!” She pulls out a thick wedding folder, eyes bright with excitement. “Mom found the perfect restaurant for our honeymoon. And the florist finally got those peonies we wanted for the centerpieces.”
Each word drives the knife deeper. Five days. We’re supposed to get married in five days.
“Oh, and the guest list! Your aunt Caroline called — she’s bringing her new boyfriend. We’ll need to rearrange the seating chart.”
“About the wedding…” I start, but she’s already pulling out more papers.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “What if we add an extra tier to the wedding cake? The florist said she could provide matching roses to decorate it.”
I nod again, feeling like a fraud. She’s planning a wedding that might never happen, talking about a future I’ve already shattered.
“Abby…” My voice is quieter than I intended.
She glances up, her smile faltering slightly. “You’ve been acting strange all week. Is it work?”
“No, it’s just…” I start, then falter. How do you tell the love of your life that you’ve betrayed everything you built together?
“Wait,” she says, reaching for her purse. “Before anything else, I want to give you something.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than intended.
She pulls back, startled. “What’s going on with you? So quiet lately. Is something wrong?”
The restaurant seems to shrink around us. The soft music turns discordant, the intimate lighting harsh and exposing.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, the words like broken glass in my mouth. “About my bachelor party.”
Her face changes subtly — something in her eyes dimming, as if she already knows what’s coming.
