Lydia Frederick Emily Novel After Seven Years of Suffering, I Finally Broke Free

The moment I pulled back the curtain to try on the wedding dress, Frederick Shaw answered his phonewith his first love.
He stood with his back to me, whispering words of comfort into the receiver for half an hour.
The shop assistant awkwardly complimented me on how beautiful I looked.
I looked at myself in the mirror, wearing the white wedding dress, and felt like a clown.
Half an hour later, Frederick turned around, without so much as a glance at me, and said,
"Emilys having a breakdown; shes threatening to jump off a building. I have to go."
"You can choose the dress. Dont try to save money."
I didnt look at him either and removed my veil in front of the mirror.
"Go ahead."
Anyway, this is the last time Ill wear a wedding dress for him.

Frederick left in a hurry.
He didnt even notice his car keys had fallen on the carpet; the shop assistant had to pick them up and run after him to hand them over.
The fitting room was empty except for rows of expensive gowns hanging silently.
The sales assistant asked cautiously, "Ms. Sinclair, are you satisfied with this? Mr. Shaw might have something urgent."
I glanced down at the lace on the skirtintricate, delicatemuch like the tangled seven-year relationship between Frederick and me.
This dress had taken three months to customize, was air-freighted, and cost six figures.
Frederick hadnt even flinched when he swiped his card.
He thought money could solve everythingeven my emotions.
"Help me take this off," the sales assistant said, surprised.
"Arent you going to order it?"
"It doesnt fit."
I turned, staring at the expressionless woman in the mirror.
"It doesnt fit anywhere." The foundation around my eyes was caked, the lipstick too pink.
Im clearly not young anymore, but I still cant accept it.
Just like I cant accept that Frederick no longer loves me.
I picked up my bag, opened the door, and walked out.
I didnt take a taxi. I walked slowly, along every inch of the streets Frederick and I once walked together.
Shop windows displayed the latest seasonal styles.
Young couples walked hand in hand.
The sweet scent of popcorn and roasted sweet potatoes filled the air.
Today is May 20th.
How ironic.
My phone vibrated in my bag.
A message from Ryan Jacobs: ["I heard you went to try on wedding dresses? How was it? Did you stun everyone?"]
I stopped and replied: ["Stunning is a good word, but its used in the wrong place."]
Ryan answered instantly: ["? Whats going on? That bastard Frederick pulling his tricks again?"]
"Yeah." I didnt reply further and shoved the phone back into my bag.
Ahead, the intersection light was red.
The taillights formed a river of light, so bright it hurt my eyes.
I remembered seven years ago, at a similar intersection.
Back then, Frederick rode a secondhand electric scooter, and I clung tightly to his waist.
It was windy, and he shouted, "Lydia, Ill make sure you ride in a car without wind from now on!"
Now, hes done it.
But the passenger isnt me anymore.
I got home at nine.
The moment I opened the door, a strange perfume hit me.
My gray linen slippers were gone.
In their place, a pair of pink slippers with fluffy rabbit earsclearly too smallsat in the middle, as an intruder asserting dominance.
I stared at them for a few seconds, then nausea washed over me.
The living room light glowed warm and yellow.
Frederick sat on the leather sofa, holding a woman who was sobbing in his arms.


Emily Jordan.
She wore a large white shirtone of Fredericks.
She huddled in his arms like a frightened kitten seeking shelter.
Hearing the door open, she flinched, stiffening, then burrowed even deeper into his embrace.
"Lydia, youre back." Frederick looked up at me, a flicker of unease in his eyes.
It was the panic of being caught, quickly masked by practiced composure.
"Emilys rented apartment was awful. There was a barbecue stall downstairs, the soundproofing was terrible, and drunks kept knocking. She just got back from abroad, and her mental state is fragile. The doctor said she shouldnt be under stress, so I brought her here first."
His explanation flowed smoothly, as if rehearsed.
I changed my shoes and hung my bag on the coat hanger.
I kicked the pink slippers aside.
"The guest room hasnt been cleaned," I said casually. "The sheets are still in the closet."
Frederick frowned, a flash of displeasure at my coldness.
"Shes afraid of the dark. Sleeping alone in the guest room will give her nightmares. Besides, its too quiet. Ill stay with her in the living room tonight."
Emily finally lifted her head from his chest.
Her face was streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen, lips palepitiful.
She looked at me timidly, her voice barely a whisper:
"Miss Sinclair, Im sorry its all my fault Frederick was just worried something might happen I Ill leave tomorrow, I wont bother you."
She reached out and clutched Fredericks sleeve.
He immediately patted her back tenderly, voice gentle yet cutting: "What nonsense are you talking about? How could you walk in this state? What if something else happens? Stay here until you recover."
Then he turned to me, eyes sharp, tone commanding:
"Lydia Sinclair, youre sensible. Emily is a patient now, and also our friend. Dont hold it against her. You should have that much compassion, shouldnt you?"
Friend?
Whose friend?
The one sleeping in her fiancs arms?
I looked at them.
Under the light, how harmonious, how well-matched they seemedone broken, needing saving; the other strong, eager to save.
And I, the normal person standing straight, emotionally stable, capable of handling everything alone, felt like the most superfluous presence in the room.
I suddenly felt exhausted.
Not physically, but deep in my soul.
Like walking a long road, only to find the destination a swamp.
"Whatever." I didnt look at them again and went to the master bedroom.
That night, I locked the door.
Lying in bed, I didnt toss and turn as Id imagined.
Perhaps because my heart was dead, my body had activated its self-protection.
At two a.m., I got up for water.
Opening the door, the living room light was off, leaving only a floor lamp spilling dim yellow light onto a corner of the sofa.
Low voices came from the other end.
"Frederick, am I a burden?"
"Dont think like that. You never will be."
"In my heart, youll always be that little girl who needs protection."