On the Train in My Gown, Everyone Praised Their Match

Can you take the train down tomorrow morning? Kirsten Gilbert's coming back from out of town for the wedding, and I need to go pick her up.

Amos Henson said it over the phone like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

I held my phone and sat there for two seconds, blank.

What bride takes the train to her own wedding?

He laughed. "Ours does. Come on, be good. Just this once."

"She's the child of an old friend. I can't very well not look after her."

The background was loud. Someone was laughing, a car horn was blaring.

Someone called his name, and he added in a rush, "The motorcade's amazing. You'll see tomorrow," and hung up.

I didn't call back.

I scrolled up through our old messages.

In three months, he'd only reached out to me about one thing.

It's Kirsten's birthday. What should I get her?

I turned my phone off.

Near dawn, I bought a train ticket to Harbor City.

1.

I got on the train in my wedding dress.

I knew how strange I looked to everyone else.

To ignore the odd stares, I picked up my phone and scrolled through social media.

Half an hour ago, Kirsten had posted.

Out with the boys picking up the bride today. The AC is a lifesaver.

Two photos.

One was of her and Amos in the wedding car, a car decked with the double-happiness sign behind them.

The other was a Maybach leading the procession, with a long line of luxury cars behind it.

From the way the Maybach was decorated, it was the lead car.

The motorcade Amos had put together really was something. You couldn't look away from it.

The comments were all agreement.

Oh my god, the campus queen and king, together at last.

The campus king dumped that ugly thing? Finally...

So beautiful, Kirsten.

Such a lovely, harmonious picture.

I pinched the edge of my phone, my breathing went a little heavy, my chest tight.

I tapped save on the photos without thinking.

Amos called almost right away.

I swallowed the flutter in my chest and answered. "What is it?"

His low voice came through. "Did you leave yet?"

"Yeah."

"Kirsten wants to ride in my car. You know what she's been through. It's going to be hard for her to ever marry, so she wants to know what it feels like to ride in a wedding car."

Something twisted in me. "But this is our wedding."

"Don't be so petty. We'll have plenty of chances later."

"The cars in the garage, take any of them you want."

He hung up again before I could get a word in.

I pressed my lips together, my eyes stinging a little.

Seven years together. I'd been the one to propose, and now, somehow, even the marriage was on his terms.

"Mommy, why is that lady in a wedding dress on the train? Where's the groom?"

"When Brother got married there were so many fancy cars. It was so grand."

The little voice piped up beside me, and I turned to look.

A small girl was watching me, wide-eyed and innocent. The words cut a little, but children say what they see.

I managed a smile. The girl's mother quickly clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Of course the lady has her own reasons for taking the train. Don't say silly things. Tell the lady congratulations."

She looked at me, apologetic. "Kids don't know any better."

The girl shrank at her mother's scolding, then said to me in a small voice, "Congratulations, miss. I hope you're happy forever."

I smiled and nodded. "It's all right. Thank you for the kind words, sweetheart. I will be happy."

Then I glanced at the girl's mother and asked, "Would you mind filming a short video for me? I'd like to remember this."

She nodded without hesitation. "Of course."

I took out my camera and handed it to her, held a few poses, and let her film a few clips.

"There," she said.

I thanked her, took the camera back, and looked down at the photos, drifting off for a moment.

The woman sounded puzzled. "A day this important, and your husband isn't with you?"

I came back to myself, turned to her, and the corners of my mouth lifted. "He does special work. He couldn't come get me."

She nodded like she half understood. "Oh. My old man's the same. Special forces. Just seeing him once is so hard."

I curved my lips. Amos was busier than any soldier.

"Yeah. Thank you."

I set the camera down and drifted off again.

After a while, I took out my phone.

Someone had posted the video of me on the train in my wedding dress to one of the short-video apps. It was spreading at an alarming rate, the likes and comments climbing without stopping.

Before long someone forwarded the link into the group chat.

The group blew up in an instant.

Oh my god, does Cecilia Bishop love Amos that much? Amos tells her to take the train and she just takes the train. Tsk tsk.

Amos, I'm telling you, that woman's latched onto you for life.

Everyone in the group was talking over each other, completely forgetting I was there.

It was a group they'd made a while back.

Kirsten had quietly added me. Nobody knew that account was mine.

Usually the group was dead quiet. Today, all at once, they'd gone off like they were possessed, stomping all over me.

If not for today, I never would have known how little they thought of me.

I looked at the names. All familiar.

To my face it was all his wife this, his wife that. Behind my back I was a pathetic doormat.

I opened the video they'd forwarded and watched it. Set to some mood-heavy background music, it really did make me look like a lovesick fool chasing after true love.

The comments were a pile-on.

Some cursing me, some defending me.

Is this woman insane? Wearing her own wedding dress to get married by herself? She doesn't even value her own wedding, no wonder people look down on her.

The guy doesn't really want to marry her either, or why would he leave her to take the train alone?

Everyone yapping at once, all of them taking a bite out of me.

I drew a deep breath and typed one line into the group. This angle actually makes me look pretty good. Don't you think, darling?

I tagged Amos when I sent it.

The group went silent in an instant.

Watching the scenery race backward past the train window, my thoughts drifted, whether I wanted them to or not, back to seven years ago.

The group chat wasn't wrong. Amos really had saved me.

Back then I was a green little intern reporter with barely any experience, desperate to break a story that would blow up.

By day I roamed the streets with a camera. By night I drifted through the clubs with my phone.

Then one day, I actually caught something big.

I was so thrilled I nearly screamed.

Unfortunately, they saw me.

A pack of thugs chased me for blocks, and just as I ran out of road, I yanked open the door of Amos's car and got in.

I turned to look at him and froze.

He was the best-looking man I had ever seen in my life. I'm not exaggerating.

Big eyes, a straight nose, gold-rimmed glasses perched on it.

Refined. Restrained.

Amos looked at me and frowned slightly. He glanced at the men outside and said nothing.

He didn't kick me out of the car. Instead he handed me a handkerchief and pointed at my face. "Wipe the sweat off."

"Thank you."

To someone being hunted, he might as well have been a god descending from heaven.

After he parked, I used washing his handkerchief as an excuse, and it fell naturally into place: I got his contact information.

Only later did I learn we'd gone to the same school.

Because we were alumni, we had a lot of friends in common.

The days went by, and it happened as naturally as anything: we became a couple.

Holding hands, hugging, kissing.

I thought God had sent him down to save me, to let an orphan with no father and no mother feel a little warmth in this world.

After we got together, he really was good to me. He remembered when my period was coming and made me hot ginger tea. He brought me gifts when he came back from business trips. When I was in a bad mood, he took me to the handbag store and told me to pick whatever I wanted, put it all on his card.

Late at night, in the quiet, I'd think that even if this was some elaborate scam meant just for me, I'd accept it.

Every time I remembered those days, it felt like a dream.

But time went fast. Seven years, and he never once brought up marriage.

I wanted to marry him. Wanted it for years. The proposal came from me.

That day he was so moved. He held me and kissed me for a long time.

I thought he was happy.

But not long after, I ran into him and Kirsten at the bridal shop.

My nightmare.

She was wearing the wedding dress that should have been mine, standing blissfully in front of the mirror, asking Amos if it looked good.

Amos, all smiles, played along. "It looks good."

I asked him coldly why he was letting her wear my wedding dress.

He put an arm around my shoulders, lowered his head, kissed my cheek. "Be good. Kirsten's just getting a feel for it."

I looked up at him. "Getting a feel for it, in my wedding dress, with a man?"

He glanced instinctively at Kirsten, a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

He pulled me aside and said, holding on to his patience, "Don't make a scene. It's just a dress."

I shot back, "And next time? Are we going to plan another wedding too?"

I didn't spare him.

He looked at me, all disappointment. "Cecilia, I never thought you'd think that way."

"I always believed you were a sensible girl."

"Kirsten went through some things when she was young, so she's a little afraid of men. She won't have any ideas about them."

Afraid of men?

She looked pretty happy when she was smiling at him.

For the sake of marrying him, I forced it all down.

...

Who could have guessed she'd pull the same trick again.

Right now, she was sitting in my bridal car, her arm hooked through my fianc's.

And me, sitting on this train, I'd become a joke all over again.

Mm, it really does look good. Kirsten's always had good taste.

I clenched my teeth and stared at that line.

Kirsten's taste.

Her again.

Right? I really do have an eye for it. I said this dress suited you, and Amos bought it on the spot. You look like a fairy come down to earth in it.

Kirsten chimed in, right on cue, backing Amos up with a few lines.

I bit my lip and sniffed, my eyes stinging like grit had gotten into them, my vision slowly blurring.

No wonder it felt prickly when I wore it. Did you two lace it with poison?

The moment I sent it, Amos's call came through.

I answered, cupping my hand over my mouth, and said quietly, "What is it?"

"It's your big day. How can you talk like that? Kirsten meant well, helping you pick the ring, picking the dress, and you go looking for faults in her."

"She's the one who stitched the thorns in. That's why she thinks everyone's picking at her."

Amos went quiet on the other end.

He said nothing, and neither did I.

Finally, he said impatiently, "Are we still getting married or not?"

I clenched my teeth and drew a long breath. "Marry you. Of course I'll marry you."

"Then apologize to Kirsten, and we'll get married the normal way."

His voice was cold, like none of it mattered to him.

My fingers moved over the cold lace trim of the wedding dress. Fabric that was supposed to carry joy, and all it did now was dig into something raw in my chest.

I forced out a bitter little smile. "Why would I ever apologize to her?"

On the other end, Amos sounded careless, edged with impatience. "You still think you did nothing wrong? You really don't know what you did?"

"I don't."

He went quiet again. A few seconds later he dropped one line. "Cecilia, well done."

Then he hung up.

I don't know when it started, but he never said goodbye when he took my calls.

I used to think he was just busy, a man in his position, used to ending things that way.

Then one day I found out that wasn't it.

He had all the patience in the world for Kirsten. When they talked, his voice went soft and slow, and near the end he'd coax her gently, telling her to hang up first.

With me, the patience always seemed to run thin.

I set the phone down, planning to lay it all out face to face when I got there.

Minute by minute the time passed, and at last the train pulled into Harbor City.

The moment I stepped off, I gathered up the skirt and headed out.

The entrance was empty.

There was no motorcade. Nothing he'd promised.

He'd played me.

I pulled out my phone and called him. He picked up fast, but said nothing.

I swallowed the sick feeling and asked, "So this is your answer?"

"Cecilia, I didn't like the way you spoke to Kirsten. She's my friend."

"So are we getting married or not?"

"Apologize, and I'll come get you right now. Otherwise the wedding's off."

His tone left no room.

I drew in a breath and fought to smother the anger. Five thousand years of history, and had anyone else ever run into something this absurd?

I gave a cold laugh. "I'm not apologizing."

He hung up on me again and sent through an address, the hotel we'd booked before.

A moment later the phone buzzed twice more.

Kirsten again.

Cece, you really don't understand Amos.

Two photos of rings.

They were the rings Amos, Kirsten, and I had gone to pick out together.

He'd said Kirsten had good taste and could help us decide.

In the shop, Kirsten fell for this one at first sight, gushing about how much she loved it.

I didn't care for the style, but I bought it anyway, to keep Amos happy.

The saleswoman said the ring stood for eternal love.

I remember asking Amos then, "Will you love me forever?"

He gave me a flat glance. "You believe in that stuff? Isn't it enough that I treat you well?"

Looking back now, he was just dodging the question.

You like it, so it's yours. The venue's already set, might as well just hold the wedding there.

I sent one reply and didn't answer after that.

I found the nearest mall, bought a change of clothes, and put them on.

Face blank, I shoved the wedding dress that had held seven years of hope hard into the trash.

The white gown smeared with filth, exactly like what was left of Amos and me.

I'd swallowed it again and again. I was done swallowing.

I took out my phone and snapped a photo of the trash can.

Then I posted it to social media with a caption.

Trash this worthless belongs in the trash.

Not long after, Amos called. I hung up on him and blocked him everywhere messages and his number both.

As far as I was concerned, whatever debt I owed him, I'd paid in full.

All these years, as a reporter, I'd done plenty of the pen-and-paper work for him.

Three years ago he went to the Southeast region on business and got stranded there. It was me who raised it online, whose article drew enough public attention to get him pulled out.

Afterward, when he came to, Kirsten sat sobbing at his bedside, saying he'd scared her half to death, and he coaxed her gently, told her it was fine, he wasn't going to die.

Knowing it was a sore spot for him, I never brought it up again.

And it was from then on that Amos quietly began to change.

The story kept building online.

The moment I got off the train, a fellow reporter had already zeroed in on me, the poor jilted bride from the train.

"Miss, why did you throw the wedding dress away? Aren't you getting married?"

The cameras all swung toward me at once.

I drew a breath. As a reporter, I knew the lens was the best weapon I had right now.

I turned to face it, my eyes going damp. "The groom's heart landed on someone else a long time ago."

I grabbed my bag and checked into a room at some out-of-the-way hotel.

The group chat wouldn't stop blowing up.

Kirsten: I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, it has nothing to do with Amos. If you hate me that much, I'll disappear from your lives.

Amos: Cecilia, feeling proud of yourself? Are we still getting married or not?

All voice messages, each one more frantic than the last.

Amos really had no patience left. For three years now it had been plain to see.

He'd spent all of it on Kirsten.

A cold smile tugged at my mouth, and I answered them one by one in the chat.

Kirsten, drop the sweet-innocent act. Since you feel so sorry for me, keep your word. Disappear.

Keep an eye on me and Amos? What a joke. Who are you two to me? Why would I need you watching?

Fine, Amos. Nine o'clock tonight, I've got a surprise for you.

Then I left the group.

My phone was ringing off the hook, call after call. I didn't pick up a single one.

After years as an investigative reporter, I'd long made a habit of saving every chat, every draft, every scrap of proof. I never gambled on people's hearts.

At nine that night, I set up my stand and went live.

I'd worked as a reporter long enough. I still had a few followers scattered around the internet.

I mussed up my hair, doing what I could to make myself look worn out, softer, more pitiful.

Since Kirsten had the nerve to hire someone to film me on the train so people could laugh at me and see just how sorry my situation was, I couldn't let all that effort of hers go to waste.

You want to play the public-opinion game? Who plays it better than me?

I turned on the camera and gave the lens a gentle, easy smile.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Cecilia."

"Yes, that's me in the video."

"How I met Mr. Henson was an accident..."

"I don't think my fianc is a bad man. He just loves someone else a little more than he loves me. In love, no one's really right or wrong."

Sadly, I picked up my other phone and held the saved photo fully up to the lens.

It was the picture Kirsten had posted on her social media.

"He let another woman sit in the seat that should have been mine, but I'm not angry. I know that person is like a brother to him. How could I fight a brother over jealousy?"

As I spoke, I sniffled, hovering on the edge of tears.

The comments scrolled by fast, some cursing, some cheering, some just there for the drama.

Brother, my foot. I hate these guys who play the "we're just friends" card. Who's he kidding? There's no such thing as pure friendship between a man and a woman.

Can't have it, so he ruins it. What kind of person does that?

There's a huge bombshell here. Spill it, quick.

Coming to this point was purely Amos and Kirsten's doing. They forced my hand.

I knew she'd never disappear on her own. And since she wasn't willing to, I'd help her along.

"Amos and I picked out the ring together. He said my fingers were slender, that this style suited me best. Even after I put it on and realized it was a little big, I didn't say a word."

"Because I knew this was the style she liked."

The phone buzzed again and again. I could just imagine how furious Amos was right now.

But this was only the appetizer.

I muted the sound and, right in front of everyone, swiped to take the call.

Amos's angry voice came through. "Cecilia, do you really have to make this so ugly? So Kirsten sat in your wedding car. So she wore your ring."

"It's not like I'm actually marrying her. What are you so worked up about?"

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. Suddenly he was a stranger.

He used to stand up for me. He used to go along with whatever I wanted, back whatever I did.

But later he stopped defending me. Especially when Kirsten was involved.

"Amos, you know perfectly well her feelings for you aren't ordinary, and you still won't keep your distance. A man like you, what right do you have to talk about love?"

He fumbled for an excuse. "You... we're just friends."

"You let her sit in my wedding car, wear my ring, pick out my dress, and you're telling me she's just a friend? I'm really busy. I need to get back to chatting with my followers."

He lost it. "Shut off the livestream right now. No more streaming. You'll ruin Kirsten like this. Kirsten is a singer!"

I burst out laughing. "A singer? Has she ever charted?"

"And I'm a reporter, Amos. This is nowhere near the end."