Ditched at Our Seventh Engagement

Sawyer Patterson intended to leave me again for his childhood sweetheart, Mathilde Payne.

We'd been together for ten years, and this was our seventh engagement party.

For the previous six times, Mathilde always had some kind of emergency.

This time, I wasn't going to let him go. "We're about to exchange rings. It won't take long. She's just got a slight fever. It's not a big deal if you go later, right?"

Sawyer lost it. "Can you stop making a scene? Mathilde has always been frail. We've been together for ten years. We can do without a ceremony."

He walked out, leaving me behind with a broken heart.

This time, I was truly done with him.

I stood at the center of the stage, heartbroken.

Just like before, Sawyer Patterson walked away without looking back. He ignored the guests' stares, leaving me to face their whispers alone.

This was our tenth year together. In another year, I'd be 35.

Sawyer and I grew up together. Our families jokingly matched us before we were born. No one took it seriously, except me.

I'd secretly loved Sawyer, dreaming of marrying him one day.

Sawyer's father stuck to outdated business decisions. Their company's stock plummeted, and they were near bankruptcy.

Then they remembered that promise, hoping a marriage could save them.

My parents, seasoned in business, saw through their plan and were ready to refuse. But I overheard their conversation and threw a fit, insisting on marrying Sawyer.

My parents compromised, agreeing to let us date first.

Everyone thought I was just infatuated. With my status, I could have aimed higher. No one expected it to last ten years.

This seventh engagement party had far fewer guests than the first. Even my parents stayed away. Only those currying favor with my family showed up.

In front of everyone, I called Sawyer, my last act as a lovesick fool.

"Sawyer, come on. Everyone is waiting for you," I said. "This is already our seventh engagement party."

His voice echoed through the banquet hall's megaphone.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he huffed. "Mathilde's got a fever. What's more important, a life or some meaningless ceremony? We've been together for ten years, and you still don't trust me?"

He sighed and added, "Stop calling, okay? I'll make up for the party."

I tried to plead, but he hung up.

The crowd let out a collective sigh. This wasn't the first time I'd been humiliated by Sawyer. I was used to it.

Like the previous six times, I calmly arranged drivers for the guests and endured their gossip.

My parents nearly cut me off because of the embarrassment.

After seeing off the last guest, I checked my phone.

There, Mathilde had posted something new, with a photo of two hands clasped together. The caption went like, [Far from home, glad he is here.]

One hand wore a coral bracelet. It was Sawyer's, made by Mathilde for his birthday.

I had once given him