He Chose Her, So I Chose Alaska

It was supposed to be my wedding day.

Instead, my fiancé, Captain David Miller, forced me to kneel in front of his sobbing ex-girlfriend, Sarah.

I refused. So he had his men physically throw me out of our own reception.

As our guests looked on—some even cheering—he took the wedding ring that was meant for me and slid it onto Sarah's finger.

Someone shouted at him to go after me, warning him I'd be furious.

He just laughed. "Relax, she's not going anywhere. She can't live without me."

That was the moment something in me broke.

I tore off my corsage, went straight to the courthouse, withdrew our marriage application, and signed up to volunteer in Alaska. Alone.

After filing the paperwork, I headed to the hospital. The stress had triggered my ulcer—badly.

And of course, who do I run into? David and Sarah, still clinging to each other in the waiting room.

They both froze when they saw me.

Sarah's eyes instantly filled with tears. She looked at me like I was the one who'd ruined her big day.

"Anna… I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I didn't mean to cry at your wedding. I was just… scared. Scared that after David married you, he'd forget all about me—his little sister."

David patted her head, his voice soft. "Don't worry, Sarah. No matter who I marry, you will always be the most important person in my life."

Then he turned to me, his expression turning cold.

"Anna, do you have any idea Sarah fainted after you stormed out? Apologize to her. Now. And maybe I'll consider forgiving you."

He crossed his arms. "But don't expect me to reschedule the wedding."

My stomach twisted—maybe from the pain, maybe from heartbreak. My hands were shaking.

I stormed out? He was the one who had me thrown out on the street.

Before Sarah came back into the picture, David used to tell me I was his whole world. But in just one year, she'd taken my place. And now, on what was supposed to be our wedding day, he humiliated me—for her.

I didn't even bother arguing. I just laughed bitterly and walked into the exam room.

When I came out, I was clutching two IV bags. My ulcer had flared up the moment David forced me to kneel. I'd hidden the pain through the whole disaster just to hold onto the last shred of my dignity.

I was pale, shaky, and so weak I could barely carry the bags. After fumbling a few times, David suddenly stepped over and hung them for me.

"Thanks," I said flatly, avoiding his eyes.

He frowned, like he was about to say something—but then Sarah coughed.

He was at her side in an instant. "What's wrong? You still not feeling well?"

She glanced over at me, then whispered, "My throat really hurts from all the crying, David. I remember Anna makes amazing pear tea… I'd love some."

Without missing a beat, David turned back to me, his tone sharp. "Anna, after your IV, go home and make Sarah some pear tea. This is your fault her throat is sore."