8 Times Almost a Wife

I merely brought up the wedding decorations, and my fiancé's first love ran out of the room in tears.

Ian Murray slapped me so hard I fell to the ground. His face twisted in fury, teeth clenched with hatred.

"Daphne, are you that desperate to get married? Afraid no one else will want you, so you're clinging to me, forcing me into it? Our wedding next week is postponed!"

I held my face, but not even a ripple stirred in my heart.

This made the eighth time he'd postponed it.

I had been waiting for him since I was twenty-eight. Now, in my early thirties, I was still getting nowhere closer to being married.

So this time, I quietly packed my things and chose to leave.

Maybe this marriage didn't need to happen after all.

I held the side of my face where Ian Murray—my fiancé—had slapped me. It burned like fire. My whole body trembled.

Ian looked at me with utter disgust. He wiped the palm that had just struck me with a tissue, as if my skin had dirtied him.

"Daphne, you knew full well that Jess isn't in good health, and yet you still had to bring up our wedding in front of her. What were you thinking? Yes, I said I'd marry you. So what? That gives you the right to be this impatient? Are you so worried that aside from me, no one else would ever want you? Can't you just wait a little longer?"

His face was clouded with frustration, his eyes full of contempt.

Then, without warning, an old memory drifted to the surface—three years ago, when Ian had looked at me with eyes full of tenderness and asked me to marry him.

"Daphne, I want to marry you as soon as possible," he had said. "That way, we can spend our whole lives together."

Not long after, I had brought up the idea of getting married.

Ian promised me a grand, lavish wedding.

Fast forward to three years later, now, and it still hasn't happened.

The first time, he said it was too soon, that we were still young, there was no rush.

I thought maybe he had cold feet. I tried to comfort him, reassure him that everything would be okay.

The second time, he claimed work was too busy, that he had to go on a business trip with no set return date. Once again, the wedding was postponed.

Again and again, over and over—it'd been eight times now.

Each time, I'd excitedly choose a venue, talk to the host, and prepare small gifts for guests.

And every time, Ian would find a reason to cancel.

Until today. I finally couldn't hold it in anymore.

We weren't young anymore. Our careers were stable. So I gathered all my courage and asked him when we were finally going to have the wedding.

What I didn't expect was for his answer to come in the form of a slap.

A long silence