Seven days before I was supposed to marry Jeffrey Sullivan, I found an invitation with my wedding date, my hotel, my flowers—and my groom’s name printed beside my stepsister’s.
Chapter 2
Mom summoned me to the hospital five days before the wedding.
“Harp cried all night,” she said over the phone. “She’s bleeding, and stress is dangerous for the baby. Come clear this up, but watch your attitude.”
Clifford drove me there. He had changed since high school, but not in the ways that mattered. He was broad-shouldered now, with silver beginning at his temples, yet he still listened without interrupting and never filled silence merely because it made him uncomfortable.
“If you’re not back in ten minutes,” he said as I opened the car door, “I’m coming upstairs.”
Harper’s hospital room was partially open. Through the gap, I saw Jeffrey beside her bed, peeling an apple in one perfect spiral.
Years earlier, during a painful stomach illness, I had once asked him to slice an apple for me. He had tossed one onto the bed and said, “I’m not your nurse.”
Now he carefully removed every bit of skin for Harper.
A nurse entered with a clipboard.
“Who’s here with the patient?”
“I’m the baby’s father,” Jeffrey said.
He signed immediately.
Mom arrived carrying a thermos and walked straight past me. “Sweetheart, you look exhausted,” she told Harper, tucking the blanket beneath her chin.
Harper gave me a weak smile and held out a folder.
“I never wanted to come between you and Jeffrey,” she said. “But my baby needs a father.”
I opened the folder.
The first ultrasound report was dated July 1. Harper was listed as eight weeks pregnant.
I read it twice.
Then I saw a photograph tucked behind the medical papers. Harper stood beside Eric Miller, her college boyfriend, smiling at a lakeside resort.
Jeffrey had told me his drunken night with Harper happened June 12.
If she had been eight weeks pregnant on July 1, Jeffrey could not be the father.
I held out the report. “Jeffrey, are you certain you slept with her that night?”
His face hardened. “Are you seriously doing this here?”
“You said you were drunk.”
“I was blackout drunk. I woke up beside her. What else am I supposed to think?”
“And afterward?”
He looked away.
That told me enough.
“What happened afterward, Jeffrey?”
Harper suddenly clutched her stomach. “Please stop. You’re upsetting me.”
Jeffrey rushed to her. “Barbara, enough.”
For the first time in twelve years, he raised his voice at me.
“If you’re angry, take it out on me. Harper is having a difficult pregnancy.”
I slipped the records and photograph into my purse.
Outside, Clifford studied them in the car.
“The dates don’t work,” he said.
“No.”
“So tell Jeffrey.”
I watched traffic stream beyond the windshield. “I want to know something first.”
“What?”
“Whether he chose Harper because he believes the baby is his—or because he already wanted her.”
Clifford’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t tell me what to do.
Three days before the wedding, Mom organized a family dinner. I discovered upon arriving that everyone had already been told Harper was the bride.
According to Mom, Jeffrey and I had peacefully ended our engagement because we “wanted different things.”
When an aunt asked about the house, Mom smiled brightly.
“Barbara has graciously offered to let Harper stay there. It’s close to her doctor.”
“I made the down payment on that house,” I said.
The table went silent.
Jeffrey squeezed my hand beneath the table.
“Don’t make this uncomfortable.”
“Where exactly should I live?”
“A hotel. A friend’s place.” He exhaled in irritation. “Why does everything have to become a fight?”
My phone vibrated.
A bridesmaid had messaged me.
Barbara, your mom says Harper is the bride now. Are we still supposed to help with hair and makeup?
I opened our wedding group chat.
Its name had been changed to Jeffrey & Harper’s Wedding.
Harper had uploaded pictures wearing my dress. The waist had been altered to hide her pregnancy. Everyone was commenting on how radiant she looked.
Then Harper walked over carrying several pages.
“Barbara, could I borrow your vows?”
I stared at her.
She actually smiled.
“You know Jeffrey better than anyone,” she said. “You wrote everything so beautifully.”
I looked at him across the table.
“Was there another time?”
His face went still.
“After the drunken night,” I said. “Did you sleep with her again?”
He remained silent too long.
Finally he whispered, “Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“I was sober the second time,” he admitted. “But it didn’t mean anything.”
I laughed quietly. “Nothing?”
“I never planned to leave you.”
“You kissed her sober, slept with her sober, moved her into my house, gave her my dress, and you’re marrying her. What part of that looks like staying with me?”
Harper reached for my vows.
I pulled them away.
Her elbow struck a bowl.
Scalding soup poured over my wrist.
Pain shot through my arm, and I cried out. Harper jumped backward, bumped the chair, and immediately grabbed her stomach.
Jeffrey saw my skin turning red.
He walked past me.
“Run it under cold water,” he said, catching Harper in his arms.
Mom rushed to Harper too. “Barbara, honestly! You know she can’t be frightened.”
Harper had spilled the soup.
I had been burned.
Yet somehow I was still the dangerous one.
A restaurant employee brought me an ice pack while Jeffrey and Mom drove Harper to the hospital.
Two hours later, Jeffrey texted.
Harp’s okay. Does your wrist still hurt? Also can you review the reception menu and send me the final version?
I stared at his message until my vision blurred.
Then I called Clifford.
“I don’t want to wait until Saturday.”
He was silent.
“If you still mean what you said years ago,” I continued, “I’ll marry you tomorrow.”
Clifford did not sound triumphant.
“Barbara, listen carefully. If you’re doing this because you need an escape, I’ll help you escape without marrying you. You don’t owe me anything either.”
“I know.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
We married quietly the following evening at the county courthouse.
I wore a navy dress and a bandage on my wrist.
Clifford wore the same dark suit he had worn to his father’s funeral because it was the only one he owned that still fit.
When the clerk asked whether I took Clifford Nash as my lawful husband, he looked at me as though my answer belonged completely to me.
“I do,” I said.
The next morning, Mom entered the guest room where I had slept.
“Jeffrey and Harper signed their marriage paperwork,” she announced happily. “See? Everything is settled. Once the baby comes, Jeffrey can start making things right with you.”
I zipped my suitcase.
“Okay.”
Mom stroked my hair.
“I knew you’d understand. You’ve always been the sensible one.”
Before leaving for the hotel, I put the key to Mom’s house and the key to my own house into an envelope.
On the front, I wrote:
You don’t need to save a place for me anymore.
