The Runaway Groom and His Eleventh-Time Bride

My husband and I have been legally married for five years. This is the tenth time he's canceled our wedding ceremony.

This time? His student, Laura, is competing in her first international violin competition—and he 'needs' to be there.

I still remember the last cancellation: an awards ceremony he had to attend with her. The time before that? She fell ill, and he stayed at her hospital bedside. The other times? I've lost count of the excuses, but it doesn't matter. The reason is always Laura. Her needs always outweighed my wedding. My marriage. My life.

Fine. If he wanted to stand by Laura so badly, he could stay there forever.

This hollow, five-year farce of a marriage?

It's over.

I saw the guests off one by one, smiling gently, keeping things steady.

Tom Spader's friends came over to console me.

"Come on, this isn't the first time. Try to be understanding."

"Yeah, Tom definitely cares about you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have made it official with you."

"That's right. Men stray a little, it's normal."

I nodded, quiet and composed. I didn't cry, didn't argue.

I just said calmly, "I understand. Please thank him for me. Thank him for giving me a title."

They paused for a second, then let out a collective sigh of relief.

"See? Liz is so gracious."

"Liz is mature. She's wife material, for sure."

I waved them off with a tired hand, and once they were gone, I leaned over the trash can and threw up.

Because Tom still hadn't shown up, relatives and friends were growing more and more impatient.

To calm them down, I pleased them with alcohol—three shots at every table.

There were fifty tables. That amounted to a total of one hundred and fifty shots.

The glasses were small, but the liquor was strong.

His parents had already left.

Before his sister walked out, she made sure to scold me.

"If you can't hold your liquor, why even try to show off? You can't even keep your husband. Who else is there to blame? Don't act like our family did you wrong."

I didn't argue. I just nodded. "It won't happen again."

My stomach burned like it was on fire. I kept forcing myself to gag, trying to bring up as much of the alcohol as I could.

My parents spoke with the hotel staff, trying to get part of the cost refunded, since the food hadn't been served yet.

They walked toward me under the staff's disapproving stares.

Not that I could blame them. This was the tenth time. Every single time, we had booked the same venue, and every time, the groom failed to show.

Each time, we managed to get a partial refund.

The hotel manager, who had always handled our events, had gotten married the same year as me. Her kid was almost five now.

She couldn't help sneering, "If the banquet keeps falling through, maybe don't plan the next one. All that work, and