Wanna Fake His Death? I Beat Him to It

Rain poured outside. I only wanted to bring an umbrella to my fiancé but ended up overhearing everything in the private room.

Inside, Travis was surrounded by friends, the man of the hour at tonight's party.

"It's not like we're actually getting married, so why all this fuss?" Despite his annoyed tone, his eyes gave away his amusement.

His buddies poured him drinks, pretending to be hurt.

"Come on, Travis, you've been MIA since that yacht party. We've missed you, man. We just needed an excuse to drag you out for some fun."

Since that day, Travis had been glued to my side, never letting me out of his sight.

Travis smirked like he'd heard a joke.

"If I don't make it convincing, how else will she break down crying for me at the wedding?

"What do they call it—withdrawal symptoms? Before I bail, might as well give her some sweet memories to cling to."

Everyone roared with laughter.

To them, I was nothing but entertainment.

Only when Elaine came up did they watch their words.

"I heard the famous Elaine is coming to the wedding too. She's not planning to steal the show, is she?"

Travis raised an eyebrow, playing coy.

"No, she's just coming to watch. Elaine knows she's the only one that matters to me.

"Getting close to Sarah was just to help her get into character, right? Lucky break that Sarah happened to have breast cancer."

So that's why Travis seemed so worn out lately.

He could play the loving fiancé while using me at the same time.

Oddly enough, hearing Travis say these things didn't hurt as much anymore.

I left the umbrella by the door—the one with the little rabbit Travis had drawn on it.

That should be enough to make him sweat.

On our wedding day, Travis blew up my phone.

I didn't answer a single call.

When I wouldn't pick up, he bombarded me with texts.

"Sarah, did you come by last night? Did you hear something?

"Whatever it is, I can explain. There's an explanation for everything. No matter what you heard, please don't jump to conclusions.

"Sarah, I'm sorry. I know it's too late, but I never planned to leave you at the altar. I really do want to marry you."

...

After I ignored every message, he sent one final text.

"Will you come to our wedding? It can't happen without a bride. I'll wait for you and explain everything face to face."

What's that saying? Too little, too late.

I'm sick of Travis's performance. The show's over.

I grabbed my diary and wrote on the last page: [Brought Travis an umbrella, but accidentally overheard a truth I didn't want to believe. He was supposed to be a good person, the only light during my darkest days. I...]

I splashed some water from my glass onto the diary—if you're going to fake it, make it believable. Travis taught me that much.

After packing my suitcase, I looked around the empty apartment and at the diary I'd left in plain sight.

Everything was set.

Under the surveillance cameras along my route, I made my way to the bridge.

Finding a blind spot near the shore, I left my shoes behind, changed my clothes, and walked away.

After today, my history with Travis would disappear into thin air.