27 Calls 2 Wristbands 1 Empty Anniversary Chapter 01
A month into our cold war, Julian handed me two VIP wristbands for Coachella. He wanted us to go together on our wedding anniversary.
I got dressed up that day. He never showed. Not even by the time the gates opened.
I was about to go in alone when I checked my bag. The wristbands were gone.
That’s when I saw Maddie’s story. Julian was holding a pink cotton candy stick, looking stiff and serious—a far cry from the ice-cold finance guy everyone knew.
The caption read: Finally saw Domi Dolla. Shoutout to someone who never says no ??
I stared at the empty pocket in my bag. Everything clicked.
The old me would’ve picked a fight. Demanded an explanation.
Now? All I felt was relief.
Five years. Five years of disappointment piled up. I was so damn tired.
—
I called him eighteen times. He didn’t pick up.
The crowd outside the VIP entrance was electric, screaming, jumping. Against all that noise, all I could hear was the robotic voice in my ear: “Sorry, the number you dialed is not answering.”
I already knew the truth. I could feel it.
Julian had stood me up. Again.
But I kept dialing anyway, clinging to some stubborn need for an answer. Every time that automated message played, something inside me sank a little lower.
The festival must’ve hit its peak. A roar exploded from inside the venue, bass vibrating so hard I could feel the ground tremble through the fence.
The energy spilled over. People without tickets were waving glow sticks, screaming along with the crowd.
I just stood there. Phone in hand. Completely out of place.
Twenty-seven missed calls. I looked at the screen and realized—it didn’t really matter whether he showed up or not.
That tiny spark of hope I’d been nursing at the end of our month-long silence? Those twenty-seven calls killed it dead.
Even if Julian pulled up right now, the urge to fix things was gone.
I took a deep breath, pulled myself together, and opened my bag to go in alone.
Julian had already wrecked my mood, but this was the closing set of a band I’d loved since I was a kid. I’d dreamed about seeing them live for over a decade. I’d fought tooth and nail for these VIP wristbands. I was going in. Alone or not.
I unzipped the inner pocket.
My brain went blank.
Empty.
The two wristbands I’d tucked away days ago were gone.
I was still racking my brain—did I move them? put them somewhere else?—when my phone dinged.
I tapped the notification. Maddie Worthington. Julian’s childhood sweetheart. A new story.
The photo showed Julian holding a pink cotton candy stick, his expression wooden, stiff. Nothing like the slick, always-in-control Wall Street guy everyone knew.
Maddie’s caption: Finally saw Domi Dolla. Shoutout to someone who never says no ??
The calls that never went through. The wristbands that vanished. Everything snapped into place.
In Julian’s old group chat—they called themselves the Old Guard—a mutual friend posted the screenshot.
“Wait, Julian actually went to Coachella?” Tripp commented.
“Dude’s completely whipped by Maddie,” Chase added.
“Didn’t he say he had plans with his wife this weekend? Yikes—” someone else chimed in.
They went back and forth. All about how special Maddie was to Julian. How close they’d always been.
Not one word about me. His wife of five years.
When Tripp mentioned Julian had turned down a Hamptons party because he was “busy,” I felt a little dizzy.
I remembered a few days ago. Julian was out on the balcony, on the phone. I’d caught bits and pieces from the living room—”can’t make it,” “something this weekend.”
At the time, I’d felt this warm, stupid glow. Julian really valued this date, I’d thought. He always said he hated music festivals, but here he was, blowing off his friends to go with me.
I’d even booked a nice restaurant for after the show. I was going to let the cold war end that night. Swallow my pride. Turn the page.
Turns out Julian really did value the date.
Just not with me. With Maddie.
And to make sure she could get in, he’d stolen the wristbands right out of my bag.
I felt ridiculous.
While I was standing outside the VIP gate, frantic, waiting for him, he was already inside with her. All he left me was an empty bag and a phone that wouldn’t connect.
I couldn’t stop the thought: had he ever planned to go with me at all? Or was that whole gesture just for show? And I’d actually believed he was reaching out. Trying to make things right.
Something wet touched my cheek. I wiped it away. My hand came back damp.
Beside me, two girls watching a livestream on their phone suddenly shrieked.
“Oh my god, that’s so sweet. Why can’t my boyfriend be like that?”
“A guy holding cotton candy for his girlfriend at a festival? The contrast is everything!”
I couldn’t help but glance over. On the screen, Maddie was pressed against Julian’s chest, all shy and coy.
His arm was wrapped tight around her waist. They looked like a couple in love. Entwined. Unbreakable.
I heard it then. Clear as glass breaking.
Something inside me shattered. The shards cut everywhere.
Five years of mistakes. Time to end it.