Westley You Are Late Chapter 27
Westley was waiting for me in the parking garage.
A large, white archival box sat on the ground beside him.
When he saw me, he didn’t walk over like he used to.
He stayed where he was, his voice low.
“I just wanted to return something to you.”
Inside the box was the couture wedding dress.
After Sofia had worn it two years ago, I’d never seen it again.
Westley ran a hand along the edge of the box.
“I had it professionally cleaned and restored.”
“It’s clean now.”
I glanced at it, then closed the lid.
“No, thank you.”
His hand froze on the box.
“It was made to your measurements.”
“So what?”
I looked up at him.
“Westley, I’m married.”
His eyes slowly reddened.
“Brielle, how did we end up like this?”
I found the question odd.
“It didn’t just happen.”
“When you told me to take off my wedding dress for her, when you gave her the code to our apartment, when you took her to the OB-GYN, when you flew to St. Barts with her—we were ending, little by little, with every choice you made.”
His lips went pale.
“That surgery you mentioned… from a year ago… what was it for?”
I didn’t answer.
A look of dawning horror crossed his face, and his breathing grew ragged.
“That last day you came to find me… were you trying to tell me about it then?”
That day, I had stood outside the bar.
The test results were in my bag.
He and his friends were inside, laughing about how easy I was to handle.
I took out my phone and pulled up our last text exchange.
There were only two lines on the screen.
My text: “Let’s break up. There’s no point in dragging this out.”
His reply: “Suit yourself.”
I held the phone out for him to see.
“The day I was wheeled into surgery, this was your response.”
Westley stared at the date on the screen.
Every last trace of color drained from his face.
“That’s impossible.”
He shook his head, reading the two lines over and over again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried to.”
I took my phone back.
“But you were busy promising Sofia my project.”