She Saved Him, From Loving Me

Five years. That's how long it had been since I last saw Liam. And now here he was, standing at the altar—my best friend's groom.

Sarah, radiant in her wedding dress, giggled as she recounted their love story to me. "I saved him from a car accident, you know? Heard he had a fiancée, but I whisked him away overseas for treatment." She winked. "Pretty badass, right?"

I didn't hear another word. My ears rang, my vision blurred. Five years. Two thousand sleepless nights. The man I loved had been hidden from me—by my own best friend.

My knees buckled. I gasped for air, my body trembling violently. Sarah, noticing my ghostly pallor, rushed me to the restroom.

"Lily, what's wrong?" she asked, voice laced with concern. "Is your depression acting up again?"

For five years, I had searched for Liam—pleading with strangers, plastering missing posters, even paying for trending searches online. His family had given up. But not me.

I'd spent countless nights on the edge of roads, ready to step into the abyss.

And now? It was all a cruel joke.

I stared at the scars on my wrist—old and fresh—my eyes burning, my heart tearing apart.

Sarah sighed. "Are you thinking about your fiancé again? Let it go, Lily. He's probably dead by now." She squeezed my shoulder. "I'll set you up with one of Liam's friends."

The door swung open.

Liam stood there, tall and devastatingly handsome in his black suit—unchanged from the man I'd loved five years ago.

Our eyes met.

He looked right through me.

Then, without a word, he adjusted Sarah's dress, his groomsmen filing in behind him—old friends who knew exactly who I was. Their pitying glances said it all.

No amnesia. No excuses.

He just didn't love me anymore.

Sarah grinned. "Honey, keep your friends entertained tonight. Let's have some fun." She winked at Liam.

He nodded, indifferent. As if I were a stranger.

I closed my eyes. My heart wasn't just breaking—it was being ripped out, crushed, and tossed aside.

I needed an escape.

I bolted into a bathroom stall and slammed my head against the wall. Once. Twice. The dull thud of impact, the warm trickle of blood—none of it dulled the agony.

I slid down, laughing bitterly through tears.

"Liam… you don't want me anymore."

By the time I emerged, the ceremony had started. Sarah had replaced me as a bridesmaid.

I stood in the back, watching as she beamed under the spotlight. "I do," she declared.

Liam knelt, sliding a ring onto her finger. Jealousy clawed at my throat.

I wanted to scream. To expose her. To demand answers—why she stole him, why he abandoned me, why everyone lied.

I wanted to burn it all down.

But I didn't.

I just sat in the shadows, clapping wildly when they kissed. My applause was too loud, too desperate. People stared.

I didn't care.

Liam's gaze flicked to me. Our eyes locked. Tears streamed down my face.

His brow furrowed—just for a second—before his expression went cold again.

I texted him:

"I don't wish you a happy marriage."

"I curse you. I curse you to never get what you want."

Then I laughed at myself. Pathetic. The woman he loved was his wife. My words meant nothing.

I left before the reception. If I stayed, I'd lose control.

Three years ago, when Liam first vanished, I tried to end it. A neighbor found me, barely alive.

Liam's mother had begged me through tears: "Live for him."

But living without him was torture.

We met at six. Fell in love at sixteen. Got our marriage license the day after graduation.

Then he disappeared—vanished after a car accident. No witnesses. No leads.