She Married His Rival After He Chose Her

Evening.

A storm broke loose, rain hammering down in sheets.

I called Stewart Stephens for the nineteenth time.

When he finally picked up, the question tumbled out before I could stop it.

Stewart, where are you?

He'd promised to pick me up from work and spend my thirtieth birthday with me.

I stared at the rain lashing the window, listening to the noise on his end, and then a familiar female voice, whining.

Stewie, my feet are getting all wet!

I hate feeling sticky. You know that!

The girl was throwing a fit. Stewart forgot about me and turned his attention to coaxing her.

Don't be mad, princess! How about I take you to get some cute new shoes, hm?

The girl let out a cold little huff, and only then did Stewart remember I was on the line.

Babe, did you need something?

I listened to his voice, and a laugh slipped out of me.

No.

Go take care of your little princess.

Mia Payne

Before Stewart could blow up, I hung up first.

His texts came through immediately.

Mia, what the hell is your problem now!

Chloe Abbott said she wanted to celebrate YOUR birthday. She insisted on going all the way across town to that bakery to get you a lychee cake, just to make you happy, and you can't even be grateful? Who exactly are you giving attitude to!

Do you even get it!

Chloe's CRYING because of your little tantrum!

I read through the barrage. Chloe was crying. Chloe did it all for me. Chloe went across town to buy a lychee cake, just to make me happy.

I almost wanted to laugh.

Stewart and I had been together five years.

Five years.

And he still hadn't bothered to remember that I don't eat lychee.

I don't eat longan.

I don't eat rambutan.

But every single time he bought fruit, every time he picked up a little cake, it was always lychee, always longan and rambutan. Because those were Chloe's favorites.

Because she was Chloe.

With Stewart, she always came first.

Even though I'd spent five years trying to get him to tip the scales my way, just once.

Just once.

Now.

Standing in the middle of this downpour, I was suddenly too tired to fight anymore. Life was exhausting enough. What was the point?

I stood on the subway, watching a boy across the aisle wrap his arms around his girlfriend, shifting to carve out space for her, and I heard the girl murmur.

I'm so lucky to have you.

The boy smiled.

It was the kind of scene that made your chest ache.

I'd never had that.

I scrolled through the birthday messages from friends, relatives, and coworkers, half-listening as my mom sighed on the other end of the phone.

Mia, you're thirty now.

If you keep dragging this out, you'll really miss your window. I'm not trying to push you, it's just

My mother's voice was swallowed by my father's sobbing. He choked out the wordsIt's your grandmother. They found pancreatic cancer.

Late stage.

All she wants is to see her favorite granddaughter settled down.

Mia, my father managed through tearsare you still refusing to set a date with Stewart?

You two have been together five years.

How many five years does a person get, Mia?

His crying tore through every nerve I had, shook something loose at the core of me. I opened my mouth to ask about Grandma Payne, but my mother spoke first.

If Stewart really won't commit.

Mia, could you

What she meant was: if Stewart won't do it, can you consider someone else?

If Stewart won't say yes, can you move on?

Before, I would have dug in. I would have fought for a future with Stewart no matter what.

Before, I would have stood my ground and told my parents: Stewart is the only one I want.

But today.

I looked at myself, crammed awkwardly onto the subway, rain soaking the cuffs of my pants and my already-ruined shoes, and before I could think twice I was dialing my mom's number.

Mom.

I'll do the blind date.

By the time I got home.

The rain had stopped.

I pushed open the front door and didn't even have time to react.

Pop

Streamers drifted through the air.

Surprise!

I froze.

Mia!

Happy birthday!

Chloe stood in front of me wearing my cartoon slippers, dressed in my pajamas, her hair swept up in a loose twist held together by the shark clip I'd just gotten delivered yesterday.

My eyes locked onto Chloe's face. She didn't seem to notice at all, just called out toward the kitchen.

Stewart!

Your wife's so shocked she forgot how to breathe!

Quick, come give her mouth-to-mouth!

Stewart's laughter floated out from the kitchen. He walked over carrying a lychee cake, grinning the whole way.

If I actually gave my wife mouth-to-mouth in front of you, you'd throw a fit.

You'd say we were rubbing it in, picking on you for being single.

Stewart looked at Chloe with that indulgent softness he always reserved for her. Chloe just stuck out her tongue.

So what.

I'm single and proud. Mind your own business.

Stewart was always like this.

He could joke and play around with Chloe as if no one else existed, the two of them so close they might as well have been glued together, like they were the inseparable couple and I was just some stranger who happened to be standing there.

I was the outsider wedged between them, watching them laugh and roughhouse, watching Chloe giggle as she pinched Stewart's waist, Stewart holding the cake and yelping in mock pain.

Chloe.

My voice came out thick, heavy with congestion.

You're wearing my clothes.

I looked straight at her.

Did I say you could?

The mood iced over in an instant.

Chloe's expression crumpled into something wounded, and she turned to Stewart. His face had already changed.

I told her she could wear them.

All the playfulness was gone from Stewart's voice.

Clothes sit in a closet to be worn, he said, looking at me with open disapprovalOr are yours lined with gold? Nobody else is allowed to touch them?

Mia.

You've been out of line all day. Chloe didn't hold any of it against you. She even remembered your thirtieth birthday and put all this together.

Don't push your luck.

Stewart.

Chloe's eyes rimmed red. She tugged the hem of his shirt, her voice smallStop. Don't say any more.

Why shouldn't I say it!

Stewart's voice shot up, the way it always did right before his temper broke loose. This was the pattern: he'd defend Chloe, raise his voice louder and louder until volume alone counted as winning.

But this time, I didn't play along. I just asked him.

Stewart.

Do you remember, my throat was raw, my voice barely therewhat you promised me?

Stewart blinked, caught off guard.

You said when I turned thirty, we'd get married.

His expression went rigid.

Today.

I looked at him.

I'm thirty.

I didn't care whether I liked lychee cake or not. I didn't care about the wounded look on Chloe's face. I walked up to Stewart and blew out the candles that were already lit.

So, I said, word by wordare you going to marry me?

The air.

Seemed to freeze solid.

I stared at Stewart's face, watched the tangle of emotions flicker across it, and then heard Chloe let out a sudden snort before doubling over with laughter.

Mia.

So all this fuss today.

It was because you're desperate to get married?

Chloe laughed and shoved Stewart's arm.

Stewart, just say yes already. You know what they say, a woman at thirty is a force of nature. Better watch out.

Chloe was pushing Stewart toward me, the cake held out between them, when Stewart suddenly smashed it down. It hit the cold floor and splattered into a shapeless mess.

Mia.

I did promise I'd marry you by the time you turned thirty.

I promised. That doesn't mean you get to force my hand.

Stewart looked at me with undisguised contempt.

Pressuring me like this

only makes me think His cold gaze pinned me in place.You're pathetic.

He walked out without a second of hesitation.

The door slammed so hard the walls shook, and my whole body flinched with them.

I looked down at my pant legs, still damp from the rain, now streaked with frosting too. A crushing wave of helplessness swallowed me whole. I sank slowly to the floor and hugged myself as tightly as I could.

Stewart hadn't noticed.

My eyes were swollen.

Even though I'd tried so hard to keep it together.

But the moment I heard the words "late-stage pancreatic cancer," every ounce of composure left me. I'd barely stepped off the subway before I lost control completely, crouched in a corner, sobbing until my whole body shook, telling myself that even so, even after everything, I had to give Stewart and me one more chance.

On the way home, I kept imagining how Stewart would react when he found out Grandma didn't have long.

I imagined whether he'd regret not marrying me sooner once he knew her dying wish.

I'd imagined countless possibilities.

None of them were this.

Five years with Stewart, reduced to a single sentence.

You're pathetic.

That one word hit my chest like a stone dropped into still water, sending tidal waves crashing through my body.

The pain was unbearable. I held myself and sobbed until I couldn't breathe, sobbed like a child with no one coming to save her. And then, through blurred eyes, I watched Stewart's Instagram update.

Stewart and Chloe, seated in the revolving restaurant at Twin Towers. A lychee cake between them. Chloe smiling. Stewart gazing at her, face full of indulgence. The caption read:

Some people will never understand that love can't be forced.

Chloe liked the post. Her commentI'll always be by your side. I'll always understand you.

Before.

Seeing things like this used to suffocate me. I'd confront Stewart, demand to know what these pointed little posts were really about.

I'd insist Stewart set the record straight.

I'd even cry while interrogating him.

Who mattered more, me or Chloe?

Every single time I made a fuss.

Every single time I voiced a complaint.

Stewart would laugh at me, call me petty, say I couldn't tolerate Chloe, couldn't make room for an orphan girl his family had taken in since childhood.

And Chloe would cry and explain.

Stewart and I are really just family.

We grew up together. If there were ever anything between us, why would he have fallen for you in the first place?

Mia, please believe us.

And Stewart would side with Chloe without hesitation, demanding I apologize, demanding I back down, demanding I swallow every last shred of hurt and just accept it.

Now.

I stared at the texts Chloe had sent me.

Mia, don't go assuming Stewart's post is some kind of dig at you again.

He doesn't mean anything by it~

And then, at the very end, Chloe wrote:

Mia, a woman shouldn't be so desperate to get married. It only makes her look cheap.

We're both women, so I'm just looking out for you~

I didn't do what I used to do. I didn't screenshot the messages and send them to Stewart, demanding an explanation.

Instead, I screenshotted Stewart's Instagram post alongside Chloe's pointed little texts and posted them all to my own feed with a single caption:

Happy to be single.

Then I grabbed my suitcase, took one last look at the apartment Stewart and I had shared for four years, and pulled the door shut behind me.

I went straight to the airport.

By the time I landed,

Stewart had already called over a hundred times. Countless texts flooded my phone so hard the screen froze for a good ten seconds before I could finally open the app and hear his voice messages. He was screaming.

Mia!

What the hell kind of tantrum are you throwing now?!

I sat in the back of the cab, still listening.

What was that post supposed to mean?!

'Happy to be single'?! Are you kidding me?!

Delete it. Now!

I listened to Stewart raging as the cab pulled up. I stepped out, looked at the warm light glowing from the house, and saw my dad standing at the entrance to the neighborhood, waiting for me.

Mia! Can you stop being so selfish

I didn't let him finish.

For the first time, I cut off Stewart's voice message mid-sentence. I walked toward my dad, step by step, and my feet felt lighter than they had in years. I heard him call out to me.

Sweetheart, you must be exhausted.

I just pressed the record button and sent Stewart one last message.

Stewart.

We're done.

I blocked Stewart on everything, then went with my parents to see Grandma at the hospital. On the way out, my dad said,

Do you remember that Sanchez boy? The one who used to follow you around everywhere when you were kids?

I blinked, caught off guard.

My dad just smiled.

Go meet him tomorrow. You'll see.

I sat in the coffee shop, staring at the man across from me. The little kid who used to trail after me calling me "sissy," the snotty-nosed boy who begged me every single day to sit with him and read him stories, was now my blind date.

Hey, sis.

Frederick Sanchez sat across from me. He had a folder on the table, and he pulled things out one by one.

The house.

Investments.

The car. My savings. Everything I have.

Frederick was nothing like that little boy anymore. He'd grown into someone composed and self-assured, with an effortless polish to him, yet still genuinely warm.

Whenever you're ready, we can go get our marriage license.

Honestly,

I had never imagined getting married to anyone other than Stewart. Never pictured that a wedding could happen this fast. Even after Frederick and I walked out of city hall holding two bright red marriage certificates, it still felt like I was dreaming.

Sis.

Frederick said to me,

The wedding is already being planned. Anything you like, anything you want, just tell me. Everything will be exactly how you want it.

I still couldn't believe any of it. Then the sky darkened without warning and a downpour came crashing down. Frederick pulled off his jacket and held it over my head without thinking, then sprinted to the car for an umbrella. When he came back, he tilted the entire canopy over me. I watched the rain soak half his body.

And I remembered.

A picnic with Stewart, a sudden storm just like this one. Stewart's jacket always went to Chloe. The umbrella always tilted toward Chloe.

Stewart had told me,

Chloe was sick a lot as a kid.

Her health's always been fragile.

Babe, you have to understand.

I didn't understand.

But I loved Stewart.

So even though I didn't understand,

I told myself to be the bigger person.

Now, I watched Frederick drape a blanket over my lap. The car was warm, the temperature just right. He glanced over at me and askedFeel like Cantonese food tonight?

For a second, I couldn't speak.

Chloe loved spicy food.

My stomach was sensitive.

I'd never been able to handle spice, not since I was a kid.

But Stewart always said I was being dramatic.

Frederick.

The question came out before I could stop it.

Do you think I'm too high-maintenance?

Inside the car,

warm and still,

Frederick looked at me, really looked at me.

Getting to be the one who spoils you is my privilege.

I laughed. I just laughed, and somewhere in the middle of it, that tight, heavy knot I'd been carrying in my chest quietly came undone.

Okay.

Stewart stared at our chat window. The last message was still from that day, the one where I told himStewart, let's break up.

Twenty full days had passed.

I still hadn't caved.

I hadn't come begging.

Stewart raked a hand through his hair, visibly irritated, weighing whether to call me and tell me not to push my luck.

Then.

A text notification popped up.

His eyelid twitched. He tapped it on instinct and found a wedding invitation, along with a voice message.

It was from a friend.

Holy shit!

Dude, you really screwed this up!

Weren't you giving Mia the silent treatment to teach her a lesson?

What happened?!

How is Mia marrying someone else?!

They already sent the invitation. Is this for real?

Stewart stared at the invitation. His breathing stopped for a beat, like he'd forgotten how to react. He opened the invitation first, a cheerful love song playing over it, and there in the photo I was wrapped in another man's arms, smiling so sweetly it could rot your teeth. Printed clearly underneath:

GroomFrederick Sanchez.

Bride.

Stewart's heart seized.

The name left his lips before he could stop it.

Bride, Mia Payne.