The veil, the ring, the lie, the cheat
Chapter Nine – Flashback
Izzy:
As I typed, the word trust came into motion.
I froze. Then backspaced.
I tried again, but the word trust bled into the screen, and suddenly, I wasn't in my office anymore.
I remembered back , on a Sunday morning, maybe two years ago, a few months after my wedding.
I was sitting on the kitchen counter, one leg tucked under me, sipping from a chipped mug Carl insisted had "character." The radio played something old and stupidly romantic. Sinatra, maybe.
Carl stood at the stove, shirtless, humming. There was pancake batter on his jaw and flour on his forearm. He was flipping something too fast, too messy, and I teased him for being a surgeon who couldn't manage breakfast without turning it into a crime scene.
He grinned. "I fix hearts, not eggs."
"Clearly," I said, hopping off the counter and slipping behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. "Still glad you're mine, though."
He leaned back into me—warm and familiar. "I love Sundays with you."
"Even when I win our Scrabble rematch later?"
"You won last time because I let you spell quinoa on a triple-word score."
"It was a fair play!" I protested, laughing into his shoulder.
He turned and kissed me—slow. One hand is in my hair, the other on my lower back.
The kind of kiss that made you forget time existed.
"Izzy," he murmured. "I swear, I'd never do anything to hurt you."
And I believed him.
God, I believed him.
I blinked. The screen was blurry. My mug of coffee had gone cold beside me.
I hit save and slammed the laptop shut like that could stop the memory from crawling deeper into my chest.
The past is a liar.
It dresses monsters in soft light and flannel.
And right now, I needed to forget it ever felt like love.
Just then, as I tried closing my eyes to focus on my work….breathing in, breathing out…..I couldn't help it.
I remembered my wedding day. My day...
It was raining the morning we got married.
Not a storm—just a quiet, steady drizzle that missed the windows and made the world feel wrapped in silk.
I remember staring at my reflection in the mirror, my veil slipping to one side, my hands trembling in my lap as I tried to catch my breath.
"Are you okay in there?" Carl's voice filtered through the door—his voice, not my maid of honor's, not my mother's. But …His.
"You're not supposed to see me," I called back, heart skittering.
"Technically, I haven't," he said. "I'm facing the hallway. I just… needed to hear your voice."
A pause. Then: "Can I come in if I close my eyes?"
I laughed despite myself. "That defeats the purpose."
Another pause. "Izzy… are you okay?"
I looked at the mirror—at the white dress, the flowers clutched in my lap, the woman I barely recognized. No blazer, no courtroom file, no cross-examination to hide behind.
Just me. Bare.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
The door creaked open. I didn't turn.
I heard his steps—slow, careful. Then felt his hand on my shoulder—warm, grounding.
"You don't have to do this," he said gently. "Not for me. Not for anyone. If you want to run, I'll run with you. We'll eat bad diner pancakes in Vegas and fake new names."
I finally turned, blinking up at him. Still in his shirt and suspenders, his tie loose, his hair refusing to lie flat.
"I don't want to run," I said. "I just… I've never been this happy before. And that terrifies me."
Carl knelt in front of me, resting his hands on my knees.
"Being with you, Izzy… it's the one thing I've never second-guessed. And I overthink everything."
I laughed again, watery and thin.
"You're going to be late," I said.
"They'll wait."
"And your mom—"
"She'll survive."
"And the flowers—"
He cut me off with a kiss. Gentle. Certain.
"I love you," he whispered against my lips. "We're going to build a beautiful life, you and me."
And I believed him.
Every single word.
Tears pressed forward, hot and relentless. I forced myself back to the present.
Opened a new document. Stared at the blank page.
Typed: Once upon a time, I believed in forever.
Then deleted it.
And started writing the motion again.
Because fairy tales don't hold up in court.
But the word fairy tale stayed lodged in my chest.
How long had I held onto it?
I couldn't just erase these memories—these ghosts in silk and syrup and rain.
Then I remembered.
That night.
Just yesterday.
I was happy. I was hopeful. We were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary.
He promised things would get better. That he'd be there—for us. Even if work had started growing us apart.
I should've stayed back at the office.
I shouldn't have gone to his.
I remember waving at the nurse at the front desk, all smiles. Anyone could see how excited I was to see Carl.
I walked past the waiting room, past the darkened hallway with the call rooms.
Then—one door, slightly ajar, caught my eye.
If only I hadn't been so happy.
Maybe I'd have noticed the signs.
Maybe I'd have walked slower.
Maybe I'd have never entered.
Her laugh. Her moan.
I should have turned around. Should have pretended I never came by.
But I stepped forward before my brain could stop me.
I saw a flash of her hair. Her bare shoulder.
His hand tangled in her blouse.
His mouth was on her neck.
Our wedding ring glinting on his finger.
I didn't scream.
I didn't cry.
I backed away, one hand pressed against the cold wall like it could hold me up.
My chest caved in. My breath caught somewhere in my throat and stayed there—a scream frozen in amber.
I didn't confront them.
I didn't even shut the door.
I just walked away.
Out of the hospital.
Into the street.
And straight into the nearest bar.
I shouldn't have drunk.
But I did.
The club was too loud, too dark. Full of sweat and bass and strangers with fast hands and no questions.
He found me in the back, watching the crowd like I wasn't even there.
He had a face I'll never remember and hands that didn't hesitate.
We kissed like war.
He pressed me against the wall in a shadowed hallway near the bathrooms.
His hands are under my skirt.
My mouth on his.
And I let him.
Not because I wanted him.
But because I needed to feel something that wasn't betrayal.
When it was over, I didn't say goodbye.
I just left.
My heels in my hand.
My lipstick smeared.
My soul somewhere between that call room and the hallway.
I didn't go home.
I went to the office.
I Sat in my chair, the lights were off, and the blazer was still on.
And I broke.
No sobs. No screams.
Just a silent, shaking unraveling.
Tears finally came … slow and bitter …sliding down my cheeks like confess
ions.
I curled up on the floor between the filing cabinet and my desk.
And cried until my ribs ached.
Because the man I loved had become a stranger.
And I had become someone I didn't recognize.