When the Fireworks Fade, I Won't Turn Back

At my fianc Marcus Vance's birthday party, everyone got worked up about playing an emotional role-play mystery game.

When the parts were handed out, he took the female lead script that had originally been paired with me and passed it straight to Molly Pruitt, his ex who'd just come back to the country.

"Molly just got back, and she's been down. This lead has a really strong experience to it. Let her play it."

He shoved a minor supporting-character card at me. "Just mess around with it. Help us fill out the numbers."

The game went on for four hours. I sat in the corner and watched Molly nestle into Marcus's arms to dodge the evidence search.

When it came to the heartfelt confession round, Marcus actually pulled out the exact words he'd used when he proposed to me.

"I will never fail you in this life."

The finale was a life-or-death setup where two had to sacrifice one, and Marcus pressed the button to sacrifice me without a moment's hesitation.

He didn't so much as glance at me. He just pushed the leftover cards aside. "The plot needs it. Think of it as clocking out early to rest."

Molly leaned against him and looked at me like a challenge. "You wouldn't get jealous over a silly game, would you?"

Calmly, I turned the card that read "discarded pawn" face-down on the table.

I picked up my coat and walked toward the door of the private room without looking back.

The game was over. This nameless spectator role, I quit.

...........

When the door of the private room opened, it was raining out in the courtyard.

No missed calls on my phone. Marcus hadn't even noticed I'd left.

The sports car was still parked where it had been. I walked to the pavilion at the corner of the wall to get out of the rain, and footsteps came from the side door soon after.

Bob Gilbert and Quinn Harding stepped out under the eaves and each lit a cigarette.

Bob looked up toward the second floor.

"Marcus went hard today, huh. Proposing to Molly right there in the game. He really doesn't take Julia Fox seriously at all."

Quinn flicked off his ash.

"Molly's got depression. Her doctor told her to be around emotionally steady things. Marcus doesn't really have a choice here."

"Julia was sitting right next to them. He's not worried it'll mess up the wedding?"

"What's she going to do about it? Marcus nearly died for her back then. Forget a game, even if he handed over a whole wedding, she'd have to swallow it."

The edge of my phone dug into my fingertip. Rainwater ran off the pavilion eaves and onto the tops of my shoes.

The side door opened again, and Wendy Vance came out carrying a few receipts from the bridal shop.

"Give it a rest, you two. I still haven't finished what my brother told me to do."

Bob glanced at the receipts in her hand.

"Changing what this time?"

"The gown's measurements."

"Changing them to whose?"

Wendy folded the receipts up.

"Molly's. My brother thinks calling off the engagement back then wronged her, so he wants her to wear it and take a few photos, make up for the regret."

Quinn looked back into the house.

"That's Julia's wedding gown."

"So just buy another one. My brother's supported her all these years. What more could she want?"

The three of them went back inside. I dialed the bridal shop manager's number.

The manager picked up fast.

"Miss Fox, are you checking on the gown's progress?"

"Are the sunflowers embroidered on the hem finished?"

There was a pause of a few seconds on the other end before an answer came.

"Mr. Vance called an hour ago. He wants them all taken out and replaced with balloon flowers."

"Did the on-site floral get changed too?"

"All swapped to balloon flowers."

I pulled up the health file the wedding company had on record.

"My health record spells it out clearly. Contact with balloon-flower pollen triggers severe asthma. It can kill me. I warned Mr. Vance about it."

The manager didn't go on.

"What did he say?"

"Mr. Vance saidto have you take your medicine ahead of time, tough it out, and try to adapt."

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and hung up.

On the second-floor balcony, Marcus walked to the railing with his arm around Molly.

Molly held a megaphone, and her laughter carried across the whole courtyard.

"Marcus, is this a gift for me?"

"What I owed you back then. Now I'm paying it back with interest."

Applause broke out in the courtyard. I put my phone away and walked into the rain.

The ride app showed two hundred passengers ahead of me. Ten minutes passed and the number dropped by only three.

I walked down along the mountain highway. A Porsche pulled up beside me, its wheels throwing up water that soaked the bottom of my pants.

Wendy rolled down the window.

"Get in."

I kept walking.

She smacked the steering wheel twice.

"My brother told me to take you home. If you catch a chill, how are you going to handle the handover at the company tomorrow?"

"Handover of what?"

"The project director position."

Wendy sped up the wipers.

"Molly just got back and needs to get her footing. The project in your hands is the most stable one, perfect for her to cut her teeth on."

"Did Marcus say that himself?"

"Yeah! You used to be an orphan with nothing. My brother's the one who lifted you up. What's wrong with stepping aside for someone more deserving now?"

I stood outside the window and didn't reach for the door.

"I'm not going to the company, and I'm not getting in your car."

Wendy stared at me for a few seconds, then rolled the window back up.

"Get in or don't. Just don't be late for the handover tomorrow. Don't make my brother angry!"

The Porsche disappeared down the end of the mountain road soon after.

Two hours later, I caught the last bus, my phone down to three percent.

By one in the morning, Marcus still hadn't reached out.

I stood at the door of the apartment we shared and keyed in the six-digit code, the number we'd set as our wedding date.

The lock flagged a wrong password.

After the second try, the red light came on again.

We'd used that code for three years. It had never once been changed.

I found the brass spare key in my bag, and as the bolt clicked open, a pair of white pearl heels appeared behind the gap in the door.

They were the exact pair Molly had worn at the birthday party.

The pearl heels sat right next to my slippers.

The living room was piled with more than a dozen shopping bags, Molly's designer purse tossed on the couch, and the framed couple's photo on the coffee table turned face-down.

Beside the frame lay a diagnosis report for depression.

I picked up the frame. On the back of the glass was still the date I'd written when Marcus and I chose the photo together.

The edge of the frame dug into my palm as I walked into the master bedroom. My things were already gone from the closet.

Molly's dresses filled the entire rail.

In the spare room, the one we'd used for storage, four black plastic bags were stacked against the wall.

Clothes, books, and work files had been stuffed inside, and one frame was already cracked, the glass jammed into a sweater.

The door lock beeped outside.

Marcus walked into the living room, leading Molly by the hand.

Molly let go of him first.

"Marcus, Julia's back. Won't she be upset when she sees all this?"

Marcus glanced at the bags in the corner.

"Don't worry about her. It's my apartment, I decide."

I came out of the spare room.

"Who changed the passcode?"

"I did."

Marcus held out a takeout box.

"Molly couldn't remember the old numbers, so I switched it to her birthday. You've got a spare key, you get in fine. What's there to fuss about?"

I took the box. Under the clear lid was a slice of mango mousse with a corner missing.

"We already ate. Molly thought it was a waste, so she saved it for you."

The box went into the trash.

Marcus looked at me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm allergic to mango."

"If you can't eat it, just set it aside. No need to throw it out right in front of her."

"It's her leftovers."

Molly's eyes went red at the rims.

"I just hated to waste it, Julia. You could've told me if you didn't like it."

"I know now."

Marcus stepped in front of her.

"Julia Fox, is a slice of cake really worth losing your temper over?"

"Who put my clothes in the trash bags?"

Molly took half a step back.

"That was me. I thought they were all old clothes you didn't want."

"And the frame, you turned that down too?"

"Seeing photos of the two of you makes it easy for me to have an episode."

She gripped Marcus's sleeve.

"Marcus, I shouldn't be living in your wedding home. I'll leave right now."

Molly turned toward the door, and Marcus reached out to stop her.

"Where can you go on your own?"

"A hotel works."

"The doctor said you can't live alone."

Marcus turned his head and looked at me.

"Julia Fox, back then I took that beating for you and nearly lost my life. Now you won't even lend Molly an apartment? Apologize to her, now."

I wiped the mango cream off the lid of the box.

"No need to lend it. The wedding's off, and this apartment disgusts me anyway. You two can have it."

Marcus's hand froze in midair.

Molly peeked out from behind him.

"Julia, did you misunderstand? Marcus and I ended things a long time ago. I wouldn't take anything of yours."

I pointed at the slippers on her feet.

"Those are mine too."

Molly lifted her foot at once.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Marcus kicked another pair of slippers over to her feet.

"They're just slippers. Do you want her standing here barefoot?"

I didn't answer. I turned and picked up the plastic bags in the corner.

Marcus clamped down on my wrist.

"We're not done talking. Where do you think you're going?"

The plastic handles cut into my fingers. I pulled my hand away.

"Let go."

"Apologize to Molly first."

"The one who should apologize isn't here."

I shook his hand off, and as Marcus stepped back he hit the corner of the table, his right ribs pressing against the edge.

He braced himself on the table, his breathing coming in broken pieces.

Three years ago, Marcus had broken three ribs shielding me from a thief's wooden club.

The doctor had warned him the old injury might flare up again for a long time.

Molly steadied his shoulder.

"Marcus, where does it hurt?"

Marcus didn't answer.

She pulled out her phone and dialed for an ambulance, then pointed at me.

"You knew he'd been hurt. Why did you still shove him?"

"He grabbed me. I was only pulling free."

"He'd give his life for you. So he grabbed you once, what of it? You're nothing but an ungrateful, cold-blooded freak!"

Marcus braced against the table edge and lifted his head.

"Julia Fox, I've clearly spoiled you rotten. You don't even know how to spell gratitude anymore."

The call connected, and Molly gave the address at once.

"Someone here has an old injury flaring up. He broke his ribs three years ago. Please hurry."

I picked up the rest of the bags and did not walk toward Marcus.

When the ambulance pulled up downstairs, Marcus was still leaning against the table.

The paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher, and Molly climbed in after him, never once looking back.

I called a separate car and rushed to First City Hospital with the four plastic bags.

Bob, Quinn, and Wendy were already in the emergency corridor.

Molly stood at the door of the emergency room, clutching Marcus's coat.

Wendy came straight at me and knocked the bag out of my hand.

Clothes and books scattered across the floor.

"Julia Fox, you actually dared to show up? You ungrateful snake. If anything happens to my brother, I'll skin you alive!"

I bent down to gather the clothes.

Bob stepped on one of the white shirts.

"Marcus nearly died for you back then, and this is how you repay himshoving him toward his grave?"

I pinched a corner of the shirt.

"Move your foot."

"First tell us why you pushed him."

"He grabbed me. I wanted to leave."

"You know he has an old injury."

I looked up at Bob.

"So because he has an old injury, I'm supposed to be his dog for the rest of my life and let him walk all over me?"

Quinn blocked my way.

"Marcus dragged you out of the gutter, put clothes on your back and food in your mouth. So you had to swallow a little grievancewhat's the big deal?"

"He handed my wedding gown, my position, and my home over to Molly. That's not enough?"

Quinn said nothing.

Wendy crossed her arms.

"Those things were my brother's to begin with. He can give them to whoever he wants."

She nudged one of the books aside with the tip of her shoe.

"You're an orphan. Without my brother's help, would you be where you are today?"

I yanked the white shirt out from under Bob's foot and stuffed it back into the bag.

The emergency room doors opened, and the doctor pulled down his mask.

"No fracture. The old injury got aggravated. A few days of rest and he'll be fine."

Molly thanked the doctor over and over.

Wendy glanced toward the emergency room first, then turned to me.

"Lucky for you."

I went on gathering the scattered clothes.

Molly walked up to me and pressed the sole of her shoe onto the hem of my skirt.

"Julia, what if I step back? As long as you don't hurt Marcus, I'll disappear right now."

"Just apologize to him and I'll move out."

"Let go of my skirt first."

The sound of a wheelchair came from inside the emergency room. A nurse rolled Marcus out into the corridor.

His eyes dropped to the hem pinned under Molly's shoe.

"What's going on here?"

Molly pulled her foot back at once.

"It's nothing. Julia didn't mean it. Don't blame her."

Bob pointed at me.

"She still won't admit she was wrong, even here at the hospital. Molly kept trying to talk her around, but it was no use."

Marcus gripped both sides of the wheelchair.

"Julia Fox. Kneel."

The only sound left in the corridor was the wheels dragging against the floor.

"Say that again."

"I saved you with my own life. Even if I made you kneel here until you died, you'd still owe me. Kneel and apologize to Molly, or the wedding is postponed indefinitely."

I raised my right hand and slid off the engagement ring.

Marcus leaned forward.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I set the ring on his lap. It rolled down the blanket to the floor and came to a stop by Molly's shoe.

"There's no need to postpone the wedding."

I looked at Marcus.

"Cancel it outright."

He grabbed the armrest of the wheelchair.

"Don't use the wedding to threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you."

"Pick up the ring."

I picked up the last bag.

"It's your ring. Deal with it yourself."

Molly bent down and reached for it. Marcus stopped her instantly.

"Don't touch it."

She drew her hand back.

Marcus stared at me across the crowd.

"If you walk out that door today, then even if you come crawling back on your knees begging me, don't ever expect to return!"

I turned and walked toward the doors.

Bob called out behind me, "Marcus, let her go. She doesn't even have a home. By tomorrow she'll come back begging on her own."

My steps paused for half a beat in front of the glass door.

The door reflected the four black bags stuffed with old clothes, and everyone standing beside the wheelchair.

I pushed the door open and booked a single's apartment on the rental app.

The landlord handed me an iron key and only took one month's deposit.

The room had no closet. Four black plastic bags set down against the wall already filled one corner.

In the fold of my wallet was the emergency contact card I'd filled out three years ago. It carried only Marcus Vance's name and number.

I didn't deal with it right away. I closed the wallet again.

The clock in the corner of my screen ticked to nine in the morning. I logged into the company intranet and submitted my resignation electronically.

At eleven, I went to the orphanage where I'd grown up.

The director took the bank transfer receipt.

"This fifty thousand was your wedding money, wasn't it?"

"The wedding's off."

"What are your plans now?"

"A different city. I'll get myself settled first."

The director pushed the receipt back.

"Keep the money on you. You'll need it to live wherever you go."

I handed it back again.

"The roof here needs fixing. This money's more useful than a wedding gown."

After I left the orphanage, I called the wedding planner.

The manager heard out my cancellation and pulled up the contract.

"Miss Fox, you're the bride on this contract, so you have the right to cancel. But Mr. Vance has already told us to keep preparing as planned."

"Then stop using my photo."

"Mr. Vance won't agree to that."

I picked out a black-and-white ID photo from my phone.

"If he insists on going ahead, swap the entryway portrait for this one, and change the flowers to white chrysanthemums."

The manager didn't take the file right away.

"That would look like a funeral."

"The engagement's dead. It suits."

I paid the fee to change the arrangements and sent the image over.

At one in the afternoon, the HR manager called.

"Director Fox, Mr. Vance rejected your resignation."

I looked at the red returned mark on the screen.

"The contract lets employees give notice in advance."

"Mr. Vance has already logged you as absent without leave. He wants you back at the office now to hand off your work to Molly Pruitt."

"The project files have been sent to your work email."

"Miss Pruitt can't read the reports. Several clients have meetings this afternoon. Come back and walk her through it once."

"Let Marcus teach her."

The manager paused a moment.

"Director Fox, don't dig in like this. Mr. Vance says your life belongs to him. Once you've made your point, come back and apologize."

"What I want is my remaining pay and the project bonus."

"Director Fox, come back first, then we'll talk."

"We'll talk at the labor arbitration board."

I ended the call and blocked the company's number.

At three, a hundred verification codes hit my phone in a row.

App sign-ups, lending platforms, and food-delivery accounts kept popping up one after another, and within minutes my private messages jumped by tens of thousands.

Bob Gilbert had posted a long essay with photos.

The first showed the mango mousse in a trash can. The second showed a red mark of unknown origin on Molly Pruitt's wrist.

He claimed I had hijacked Molly's life, deliberately shoved Marcus and injured him, and spent years using the engagement to torment a sick woman.

Tens of thousands of comments piled up fast.

"She'd even hurt the man who saved her life. Why doesn't someone like that just die?"

"She's an orphan. No wonder nobody raised her right."

"Find her company and her address."

The codes were still covering the screen when Wendy Vance sent a piece of surveillance footage.

On it, the white cat I'd raised for five years was locked out on the balcony of the wedding home.

Rain struck the glass, and it kept clawing at the door.

Molly Pruitt stood inside and bolted the balcony door shut.

Below the video was a voice message.

"Molly's allergic to cat fur. Your cat ran off on its own. Don't go pinning that on us again."

I called three times in a row. Wendy rejected every one.

By the time I reached the villa complex, the balcony was empty.

A security guard blocked the entrance.

"Mr. Vance's orders. You're not allowed in."

"My cat's still inside."

"The residents say there's no cat."

I held the footage up in front of him.

"It went out from the balcony. It might still be in the complex. Let me in to look."

The guard only glanced at it.

"Rain this heavy, once it ran off nobody's finding it."

I searched the shrubs and the garage exit for four hours.

When my voice gave out, I struck the roadside railing with the iron key.

Every time it heard that sound, it used to come running and rub against my shoe.

The echo off the railing scattered into the rain. No cat answered.

Below the mountain highway outside the complex ran a drainage ditch.

A small patch of white showed through the mud. I braced against the ditch wall and slid down.

The white cat lay in the drainage ditch, its belly crushed under a vehicle, a full tire mark left across it.

The bell on its collar was sunk in the mud. I picked it up, and the clapper gave only one faint ring.

Its ears had already gone cold.

Muddy water ran into my sleeves. I knelt in the ditch, reaching again and again, unable to lift it into my arms.

My heart felt stopped up by that bloody mud, and I held the cold body stiffly against me, unable even to make a sound of crying.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Marcus had sent a message.

"Quit playing dead! What's the trick, using a dumb animal for a show? Get back to the office now and teach Molly how to read the reports!"

I posted the balcony footage and the photos of the white cat to my page.

The caption was a single line.

"Whoever locked that door, be ready to answer for it."

Once it posted, I deleted Marcus and blocked his account.

I carried the white cat against me, muddy water dripping from my hem the whole way.

The pedestrian light at the intersection had turned green.

As I reached the center of the road, a run of horn blasts came from the right.

A heavy dump truck ran the red light and barreled toward the crosswalk.

Its headlights lit the tire mark on the white cat's body.

I only had time to turn my body and shield it against my chest.

The impact threw me off the ground. My phone landed in front of the wheel, the screen and that order shattering into pieces.

On the broken screen, the last line Marcus had sent lit up: "Your life belongs to me. Without my say-so, you don't get to go anywhere?!"