The Fiancée Who Fell One Point Short

The year Richard Henson turned thirty-one, he decided to get married.

Because his calculations told him that thirty-one years and four months was the optimal point for marriage, balanced against career, assets, and the cost of having children.

He spent half a year screening for a wife.

He said the model had run over four thousand times, and I was the woman best suited to him in all these years. Ranked first. A ninety-seven percent match.

To protect those ninety-seven points, he was meticulous to the point of being disturbing.

I liked soft beds, and his back was bad, so he bought a mattress with different firmness on each side.

Before meeting my parents for the first time, he calculated all six toasts in advance.

Any more would be groveling; any less would be rude.

A week before we were going to sign the marriage license, I really believed I was going to marry him. Until his childhood friend came back from seven years abroad.

Early that morning, I went to drop off the ID card he'd left at my place.

I pushed open the bedroom door and saw him lying there naked with Leah Valdez.

Richard woke up. He didn't panic, and he didn't apologize.

He just picked up his glasses and put them on. "I had too much to drink last night."

I asked, "And then?"

He picked up his phone.

"And then I realized my earlier data sample wasn't large enough. Last night filled in the intimacy data with Leah."

Two numbers on the screen.

Me, ninety-seven percent. Leah, ninety-eight.

He looked at me, his tone still gentle.

"She's one point higher than you. So, Mabel Bishop, if we go ahead and marry as planned"

He paused. "Is there any way you could raise yourself by one point?"

I laughed. He was still waiting for me to make up that one point.

But the score I'd given him, deep down, had already reset to zero.

I didn't cry.

That probably fell outside Richard's calculations.

He watched me stand there for a few seconds, then reached over and pulled the blanket up onto Leah's shoulder first.

The motion was completely natural.

Only then did he ask me, "Don't you start work at nine today?"

I glanced at the bedside clock.

Seven forty-six.

He even remembered my commute took fifty-four minutes.

So thoughtful.

"Your ID."

I tossed it onto the table.

Richard caught it and slipped it into his wallet.

"Thanks."

He even knew to say thank you.

I turned to leave, and he finally sensed something was wrong, threw back the blanket, and got out of bed.

"Mabel."

I didn't turn around.

From behind me came Leah's voice. "Richard, put your clothes on first."

Richard didn't listen.

He only pulled on a pair of pants and came after me, blocking the doorway.

"Give me ten minutes to talk."

"There's no need."

"There is."

He adjusted his glasses, his tone the same calm I knew best.

"Last night was an unexpected variable, yes, but a single event isn't enough to override three years of long-term data. I suggest we push back signing the license by two weeks and leave the wedding plans untouched. Within those two weeks, I'll recalculate."

I stared at him.

"Recalculate what?"

"The three of us."

He almost made me laugh out of sheer disbelief.

"You really don't want to waste anyone."

He frowned.

"Don't twist it on purpose."

"Then explain it."

"Marriage is a major long-term decision to begin with. You're suited for a shared life, emotionally stable, aligned on family values. Leah and I have more similar backgrounds, and our intimacy compatibility is high too."

He paused there.

As if afraid I wouldn't understand.

"There's no reason for one mistake last night to make me immediately lose a high-match candidate who's already been verified over three years."

So it turned out I was a high-match candidate, not a girlfriend.

And certainly not a fiance about to be married.

I nodded.

"And Leah?"

Richard was silent for half a second.

"She needs to be reassessed too."

I laughed out loud for real.

His expression finally soured a little.

"Mabel, I'm already doing my best to be fair to you here."

"You slept with her, and then you're being fair to me?"

"Last night wasn't planned behavior."

I raised my hand and slid the ring off my ring finger.

His expression changed in an instant.

This was the one he'd bought after looking at forty-seven of them.

Carat, clarity, resale value, even the odds of the setting catching on a sweater. He'd calculated all of it.

He said it was the ring with the highest overall return.

I used to wear it so carefully.

Now I pressed it into his hand.

"Then you go recalculate too. How much you'll lose once you don't have me."

Richard closed his fist around the ring, his voice dropping.

"Don't make a decision in the heat of the moment."

"I'm not angry."

"Your cortisol level is definitely above normal right now. Your judgment is distorted."

I stared at him for two seconds.

"You have to quantify even my heartbreak?"

Before he could answer, Leah coughed from the bedroom.

Richard turned instinctively, just one glance.

Then he looked back at me.

"Eat some breakfast first. I ordered the shrimp porridge you like, no ginger."

The tip of my nose stung all of a sudden.

Three years. He even remembered I didn't eat ginger.

I pushed him aside.

"You two enjoy it."

When I reached the elevator, he still followed a couple of steps.

"Come back tonight."

"For what?"

"To discuss the wedding plans again."

He stood in the doorway, still gripping that ring.

"The direct loss of canceling the wedding is one point eight seven million dollars, and the cost of the guest notifications can't be recovered. Canceling now isn't rational."

The elevator doors slid slowly shut.

Through the last sliver, I saw him frowning, like he was staring at a problem that suddenly wouldn't balance.

But he didn't know.

Starting today, I don't do the math anymore.

The next day, Richard's secretary called me.

"Ms. Bishop, Mr. Henson wants to remind you not to be late for the three o'clock pre-marriage exam."

I paused.

"He didn't cancel it?"

"Mr. Henson says he isn't canceling any set arrangements for now."

I laughed.

Very Richard.

The person could be swapped out. The appointment couldn't be wasted.

I went to the hospital anyway.

Not for the exam.

I'd left an old test report there, and I wanted it back.

When I pushed open the door to the consultation room, Richard was already there.

Leah was there too.

Three reports lay on the desk.

My steps stopped.

Leah stood up first.

"Mabel, don't misunderstand, I was only"

"Sit."

Richard cut her off, then looked at me.

"Good, you're here."

I didn't move.

He pushed one of the reports toward me.

My name was on the cover.

Beside it was a printed table.

Age, family medical history, hormone levels, hours of sleep, future fertility window.

Every line had a number after it, and along the very bottom:

Overall fertility compatibility: Mabel, 92. Leah, 96.

My fingertips went slowly cold.

"What is this?"

Richard's tone was calm.

"A supplemental model."

"Who told you to enter my medical records into it?"

He finally looked up.

"We're getting married. This was always a factor that had to be considered."

I looked at him.

"The surgery I had last year, you entered that too?"

"Mm."

"And my mother's medical history?"

"There's a hereditary risk. Of course it's needed."

Something clogged up in my chest.

Last year I was found to have a benign tumor.

The night before the surgery, Richard was the one who stayed with me.

I was so scared I didn't sleep all night.

He sat by the hospital bed holding my hand and said, "It's just a minor surgery. Statistically, nothing's going to happen."

Back then I thought he was comforting me.

Only now do I understand.

He really had only been looking at the probability.

Leah spoke quietly. "Richard, maybe just let it go."

"Why let it go?"

Richard looked at her.

"Since we've decided to compare, we should eliminate as much of the information gap as possible."

My eyes snapped up.

"So you had her get examined too?"

"She volunteered."

"And then?"

He flipped the table to the second page.

He even pointed it out for me.

"Your life stability is higher than hers, and the cost of adjusting as a family is lower. But in terms of childbearing age, physical burden, and complementary temperament, she has the advantage."

When he finished, he must have decided my face looked too bad, because his tone softened.

"Still, it's not as if you have no room to improve."

I laughed.

"Here we go again."

"Mabel, I'm solving a problem."

"How do I improve?"

He actually answered.

"Start preparing for pregnancy a year in advance, ease your workload, keep your sleep steady at seven hours or more. Also your body fat is on the low side. I've already booked the nutritionist."

I looked at this man I had loved for three years.

He'd even booked the nutritionist for me.

So thoughtful.

So sickening.

"And if I don't want children?"

Richard's brow furrowed at once.

"Before the wedding you said you wanted children."

"I don't now."

"The reason?"

"Because thinking about a child having a father like you, I feel tired on his behalf."

Leah couldn't hold it in and lowered her head.

Richard's face went completely dark.

"Mabel, don't take it out on someone else."

"Who am I taking it out on?"

"Me."

"So you do know I have a right to be angry at you?"

He said nothing.

I picked up my own original report.

Before I turned, I pushed the scoring table back to him.

"Leah's four points higher than me."

"On this one item."

"Good for you both."

I gave Leah a small smile.

"Congratulations."

Leah went pale.

Richard shot to his feet.

"Mabel!"

He was finally a little frantic.

"I never said I was choosing her."

The words landed, and Leah froze too.

But Richard didn't feel anything was wrong.

He only looked at me.

"The overall result isn't out yet."

Something dawned on me then.

This man wasn't torn between the two of us.

He just couldn't bear to throw either of us away.

He wanted the 97-point wife, and he wanted the 98-point spark too.

He wanted everything, so everything had to be calculated.

But people aren't products.

And love doesn't come with bundle discounts.

On my way out the door, I deleted the hospital's exam-appointment text along with the rest.

On the third day, my mother called.

She started with, "Mabel, did you and Richard have a fight?"

My stomach dropped.

"He came to you?"

"No, he stopped by this afternoon."

I was on my feet at once.

"What did he say to you?"

Her laugh came out strained.

"Nothing, really. Just how things would be arranged after you're married. That Richard, he thinks so far ahead."

I didn't wait for her to finish. I got in the car and drove home.

The moment I pushed the door open, I saw Richard sitting in the living room.

Shirt cuffs rolled up.

A few documents spread across the coffee table.

My mother sat on the other side, her eyes a little red.

"Richard."

He looked up.

"You're here."

"What were you talking to my mother about?"

"Post-marriage risk allocation."

My mother stood up quickly.

"Mabel, don't be harsh with him. He means well for you."

I grabbed the documents off the table.

The first: recommended spending on parental support.

The second: cost-sharing for critical illness.

The third was my mother's old follow-up records from her breast tumor.

At the very bottom there was even a line in small print.

Recurrence within five years could cause fluctuations in household cash flow; recommend setting a personal spending cap.

I stared at those words.

My mind went blank with a roar.

"Who gave you this?"

Richard glanced at the file.

"You gave me the medical history last year, when we set up the insurance policy."

"So you used it to run the numbers on my mother?"

"Not on your mother."

He corrected me.

"To assess the potential long-term burden each side's family might create after marriage."

"Burden?"

My mother's face went white.

"Richard's not wrong, though. My health isn't good. If something really happened to me someday"

"Mom."

My voice shook.

"You are not a burden."

Richard frowned.

"I never said that either."

"Then what is this line?"

I slapped the paper down in front of him.

"Medical expenses over eight hundred thousand to be covered by my personal assets. You even worked out the eight hundred thousand?"

"Based on your mother's current age, recurrence probability, and comparable treatment costs, the median is around seven hundred twenty to seven hundred fifty thousand. I left a safety margin."

He was still explaining.

Earnest to the point of cruelty.

My mother kept her head down, then suddenly said, "Mabel, maybe if I really do get sick someday, don't spend so much on treatment"

My throat went tight.

I turned to look at Richard.

"Get out."

He froze.

"Mabel."

"I said get out!"

My mother jumped at that.

And Richard finally shut up.

He stood, silent for two seconds, then pulled the insurance policy out from the rest.

"Keep this."

I didn't take it.

"What?"

"I added a medical policy for your mother."

He paused.

"Three million in coverage. Effective today."

In that moment I really did want to cry.

This man always had this ability.

He'd just driven a knife into your chest.

And the next second, he could hand you the best medicine there was.

Until you didn't even know whether to hate him or thank him.

"Mabel."

His voice dropped low.

"I'm not looking down on your mother."

"I'm just used to factoring in the worst case ahead of time."

I looked at him.

"Then have you factored this in?"

"What?"

"That one day I'll stop loving you."

He went quiet for a second.

Then laughed, very softly.

"No."

Not because he was romantic.

Because he was certain.

He walked up to me and pressed the policy into my hand.

"You won't."

"Over the past three years, your probability of proposing separation was zero. After major arguments, average time to reconciliation was under eleven hours. Your attachment to the relationship is far higher than mine."

When he finished, he even reached up and ruffled my hair.

Like soothing a child in a temper.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

I didn't pull away.

I just looked at him.

For a long time.

Then I folded the policy up and put it back in his pocket.

"Mm?"

"All that old data is void now."

His hand stilled.

I opened the door.

"Get out."

This time, he didn't say anything.

He only looked back at me once when he reached the door.

For the first time there was a faint confusion in his face.

Probably his model had never told him this.

That before a person is completely done, they usually just get quieter and quieter.

Three days before the day we were supposed to sign the license.

Richard asked me to come by the wedding house.

"Read the final plan through, then decide."

He used the word "final," as if he were handing me some enormous concession.

The place looked exactly the same.

The living room sofa was the one I'd picked.

The dining table was the one he'd bought after measuring the dimensions.

Even the bed in the bedroom, the one that was firmer on one side and softer on the other, was already made up.

I'd once stood here imagining our future.

Imagining travel photos stuck to the fridge, grocery runs together on weekends, even what we'd name the kids.

Now it just felt like a stranger's place.

Richard turned the laptop toward me.

The first page read: Proposed Adjustments to the Marriage Plan.

The wedding as scheduled, kept.

The license, delayed by three months.

For those three months, he and I would keep our relationship as is.

He and Leah would suspend physical contact but maintain normal interaction.

Reassess after ninety days.

I read it twice.

Just to be sure I hadn't misread.

"This is your final plan?"

"Yes."

"You want to keep planning the wedding with me while staying in contact with her?"

"To be precise, it's an observation period."

"Richard."

I looked at him.

"Do you think you're being incredibly fair?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"At least it's more responsible than making an impulsive either-or choice right now."

I laughed out loud.

"So even an either-or is asking too much of you?"

"I don't like meaningless loss."

He closed the laptop.

"Mabel, we've spent three years adjusting to each other. The house, both families, daily habits, plans for the future, all of it lines up perfectly. Throwing all of that out over one sudden incident isn't rational."

"And Leah?"

"I've known her for twenty-five years."

"So she can't be a loss either."

He didn't deny it.

I nodded.

Of course. He wanted everything.

Stability, and the flutter too.

A wife, and he couldn't bear to let the childhood friend go either.

He didn't even think he was being greedy.

He thought he was minimizing loss.

I walked into the bedroom and pulled out the suitcase I'd packed long ago.

Richard's face finally changed.

"When did you pack that?"

"Yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Was there any need to?"

He followed me to the door.

"Where are you staying?"

"A friend's place."

"That's twelve kilometers farther to commute."

"It's fine."

"You're a light sleeper, and that place faces the street."

"I know."

"You haven't taken all your things yet."

"I don't want them."

Line after line. I used to think Richard was a man of few words.

Only now did I see that he simply didn't say anything useless.

When he sensed things slipping out of his control, he'd chase a person down with questions too.

I dragged the suitcase toward the door.

Suddenly he caught my wrist.

"Mabel."

I turned around.

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I don't want you to do anything."

"So you're punishing me?"

"No."

"Forcing me to choose you?"

"That's not it either."

His brow drew tighter and tighter.

"Then why are you moving out?"

I looked at him for a while, and suddenly I felt a little sorry for him.

A man who could calculate everything, and yet the one thing he couldn't calculate was this: some people don't leave to make someone chase them.

They leave simply because they no longer want to stay.

I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one.

"Because I don't want to marry you anymore."

He was silent for two seconds.

"The credibility of that statement is very low."

"Mm."

I didn't argue. The suitcase wheels scraped across the floor.

As I passed the entryway, the reminder for his stomach medicine went off.

Twelve o'clock sharp.

For three years, I was the one who reminded him to take it every noon.

Sometimes when he found it a bother, I'd just press the pills straight into his hand.

Richard silenced the alarm, but didn't move.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

A few seconds passed, and then he suddenly asked, "Where's the medicine?"

It had always been in my bag.

I said, "Second drawer of your study."

His throat moved slightly.

"You're not carrying it anymore?"

"Why would I?"

"You always had it before."

"I won't from now on."

I pulled the door open.

The calm on his face finally split along one very thin crack.

"Mabel."

"Mm."

"You said before, that even if one day you stopped loving me, you'd still make sure I took my medicine."

I remembered.

It was a joke we'd made back when we first started dating.

I'd been holding him, saying, Richard, this wrecked stomach of yours, without me you'd have ruined yourself sooner or later.

He'd asked, and what if one day you stopped loving me?

I'd kissed him and said, I'd still look after you even then.

Now, thinking about it, people really shouldn't make careless promises.

I smiled.

"Back then I couldn't bear not to."

"Now I feel like whether your stomach hurts has nothing to do with me anymore."

One sentence.

Richard went completely silent.

I dragged the suitcase into the elevator.

The doors slid shut, bit by bit.

He didn't chase after me.

He just stood there, in that house measured out to the last centimeter, the one meant for the decades we were supposed to spend together, watching me.

In that moment, he finally understood.

I wasn't forcing him to choose, wasn't waiting for an apology, wasn't trying to win that one point over Leah.

I really just didn't want him anymore.