30. Chapter 30
Cate
The phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
I lay on my side, staring at the wall, listening to it vibrate itself breathless on the nightstand. When it finally went quiet, I felt a flicker of relief, quickly followed by guilt.
It rang again minutes later.
I didn’t check the screen. I didn’t need to. I already knew who it would be.
The florist.
The caterer.
The church secretary, calling to confirm arrival times, seating arrangements, whether I preferred the unity candle or the sand ceremony.
The world was still expecting a wedding.
I let the calls go unanswered. Let the voicemail notifications pile up like unopened mail. If I didn’t listen, didn’t respond, maybe time would stall with me. Maybe May 17 would stay unfinished.
It didn’t.
Baby nudged her nose into my ribs, whining softly. She’d been glued to me since dawn. Since before dawn, really - restless, pacing, ears twitching at every sound. She kept going to the door, then back to me, tail low, confused.
“He’s not coming,” I whispered, my voice scraping my throat raw. “I know.”
She pressed her head into my chest, her weight solid and warm and alive. I wrapped an arm around her and buried my face in her fur, breathing her in.
She smelled like grass and sleep and John.
That nearly broke me.
A knock sounded at the door. Gentle at first. Then firmer.
“Cate?” Amy’s voice. “It’s me.”
I didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway.
She moved quietly, like she was afraid of spooking me, setting a coffee cup on the table I didn’t touch. She hovered for a moment, then sat beside me on the couch.
“You don’t have to do anything today,” she said softly. “You hear me? Nothing.”
I nodded, though it wasn’t true. There were already footsteps outside. Car doors closing. Voices.
They came anyway.
John’s parents arrived first.
His mother cried the second she saw me, folding me into her arms like if she held tight enough, she could keep me here - keep all of us here - before this split open completely. His father stood behind her, stiff and hollow-eyed, like a man bracing for impact that never came.
They asked questions I couldn’t answer.
Had I heard anything?
Did the police say anything new?
Was there somewhere else he might have gone?
I shook my head until it felt loose on my neck.
Food appeared on the counter. Casseroles. Pastries. Someone put flowers in a vase without asking. The smell of coffee, sugar, grief layered over one another until my stomach turned.
The dress was still upstairs.
I could feel it, like a presence. Waiting.
Another knock.
Seth and Jim came next. Then friends. Neighbors. People who didn’t know what to say but felt they should be there anyway.
And then Lindsay walked in.
She wore black, like she was attending a funeral she hadn’t been invited to. Her makeup was perfect. Her eyes dry.
Something in my chest went cold and sharp.
She drifted into the kitchen, picking at a plate of food like this was an inconvenience, like the room was too crowded and the air too thick.
She hadn’t looked at me yet, and something about that felt intentional.
I stood before I realized I’d even moved.
“You,” I said.
The word cracked through the room.
Lindsay turned slowly, one eyebrow lifting. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
Amy’s hand came up instinctively. “Cate…”
“No.” My voice shook, but it didn’t break. “I’m done being quiet.”
Lindsay crossed her arms, lips pursed. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, but this isn’t…”
“This is exactly this.” My chest burned. “You always had to be in everything. Every moment. Every space. You couldn’t stand not being seen.”
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. “That’s rich, coming from the woman who couldn’t even keep him happy enough to come home.”
The room inhaled as one.
Something in me snapped.
I surged forward, my hand tangling in her hair before I even registered the movement. She yelped, grabbing at my wrist as I shoved her backward. A plate shattered on the floor.
“Cate!” Seth shouted.
Lindsay clawed back, nails scraping my arm as we crashed into the counter. She shoved me hard, knocking the breath from my lungs.
“This is why he left!” she yelled. “You’re unhinged!”
I screamed, a sound ripped straight from my chest, and lunged again, slamming her into the wall. Her head hit with a dull thunk.
Baby exploded into motion.
She barreled across the room, barking violently, teeth bared, planting herself between us and snapping toward Lindsay’s legs. Lindsay shrieked, scrambling back.
“Get that dog away from me!”
Baby didn’t move.
She stood rigid, hackles raised, her body vibrating with fury.
“Don’t you dare touch her,” I warned, my voice low and lethal.
“Cate, stop!” Seth said.
Hands grabbed me, pulled me back as I fought, kicking and sobbing and incoherent, rage and grief tangling together until I couldn’t tell one from the other.
Lindsay was crying now, mascara streaking down her cheeks. “You see? You see what she’s like?”
Seth didn’t say anything.
He didn’t step toward me.
He didn’t pull Lindsay away.
He just stood there, frozen, unable to meet my eyes. His silence was loud enough to shatter something inside me.
That hurt worse than her words.
I went limp all at once, my strength abandoning me. My knees buckled and I slid to the floor, my body folding in on itself.
Baby immediately pressed against my side, her weight grounding me, her head tucked protectively under my arm.
Amy rushed forward. “That’s enough. Everyone, this needs to stop.”
I looked up at her, tears streaking my face, my voice hoarse.
“No. This needs to leave.”
She hesitated. “Cate…”
“Please,” I whispered, the word raw. “I can’t do this anymore.”
One by one, people started backing away.
John’s mother cried quietly. Seth wouldn’t meet my eyes. Lindsay was ushered out, still muttering, still angry.
Amy lingered.
“I’m staying,” she said firmly. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
I shook my head. “I need you to go.”
Her eyes widened. “Cate…”
“I love you,” I said, my voice breaking. “But if you stay, I’ll keep fighting. And I don’t have anything left.”
She swallowed hard, then nodded, pulling me into a brief, tight hug before standing.
The house emptied, everyone leaving in pieces. Apologies murmured. Awkward glances. The door opening and closing again and again until the house was quiet at last.
Trevor stayed.
He didn’t ask, didn’t even say anything at first. Just picked up the broken plate, wiped the counter, moved through the wreckage with steady, careful hands.
Eventually, I started crying again. Quiet at first. Then harder.
He sat beside me on the floor and let me fall apart against his shoulder. He didn’t tell me it would be okay. Didn’t ask me to be strong.
He just stayed.
Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky.
Our wedding day passed without ceremony.
And when the house finally went still, when the calls stopped and the world moved on without us, I knew one thing with aching clarity.
John wasn’t coming back.
But some broken part of me would keep waiting anyway.