The Wedding He Stole for Her Birthday - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I lifted my head, my eyes puffy and raw from hours of crying. With every ounce of strength I had left, I shoved Alexander away.
"Alexander, who the hell do you think you are?" My voice shook with fury. "What gives you the right to say any of this?"
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks again, unstoppable this time. "My mother—my only family—couldn't even die in peace because of you. Are you happy now?!"
Alexander had always hated when women cried. He saw it as weakness, an inconvenience. So for years, no matter how much it hurt, I swallowed my pain and dealt with it alone.
But not anymore.
Now, the rage burning inside me wanted to rip him apart.
The air outside the emergency room was heavy, suffocating. Tristan's fingers tightened around mine, his grip steadying me.
Alexander's gaze locked onto our joined hands, his jaw clenching. But he said nothing, his anger a silent storm beneath the surface.
Then the doors swung open.
The doctor met my eyes—and shook his head.
I lunged forward, my legs giving out. Tristan caught me, his arms strong as I crumpled against him, sobbing.
My mother's hand trembled as she reached for mine. The pain in my chest was unbearable.
"I'm sorry," I whispered between ragged breaths. "I'm so sorry…"
After my father died, she had raised me alone, shielding me from every hardship. All she ever wanted was for me to be happy.
And I had failed her.
Her fingers brushed my tear-streaked face, her own eyes glistening. "Scarlett, don't cry," she murmured. "I know the man beside you today isn't Alexander." Her voice wavered. "But I trust you, my love. I believe Tristan will take care of you. That's all I've ever wanted."
That was when I learned the truth—that Tristan had knelt by her bedside the night before our wedding, promising her he'd love me forever.
She placed my hand in his and closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips.
Alexander stood frozen in the doorway, his face ashen.
As I walked past, he grabbed my wrist, his voice rough with something like regret. "Scarlett, I didn't know she was this sick. Madeline's doctor friend said—"
I yanked my arm free. "Does it matter now?" My laugh was hollow. "This isn't about what you didn't know. It's about what you never cared to understand."
His brow furrowed in confusion. "Does it really make a difference whether I believed you? I never truly blamed you—"
At midnight, she took her last breath.
I knew why she held on until then.
She didn't want my wedding anniversary to also be the day I lost her.
Even in death, she was protecting me.
Standing at her grave, I squeezed Tristan's hand like an anchor.
Alexander came only once—lit incense, then disappeared.
Later, when everything was over, I finally asked Tristan the questions that had been eating at me.
His cousin's words.
The wedding dress.
The rumors about him waiting for me.
His ears turned bright red.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he pulled out a stack of old letters from a safe.
The maple leaf emblem was unmistakable.
I knew those letters.
They had come during the darkest time of my life—when I was drowning, barely holding on.
And they had saved me.