You Weren’t Invited to My Wedding, Ex! - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The hospital smelled like bleached apologies and second chances. I walked into the private wing with a bouquet of wilted lilies clenched in my hand like a dare. They drooped like they’d seen too much already, like they knew this visit wasn’t about healing.
Nurses glanced up and then away, pretending to be busy with clipboards that didn’t have my name on them. I signed in with slow strokes—Pearl V. Antonov. Let the whole damn building see it.
You don’t bring flowers to a burial. You bring reminders. And mine smelled faintly of rot.
The suite door creaked as I pushed it open with one finger.
Lavenia was lying on top of a bed dressed in champagne-colored linen—soft, expensive, and utterly wasted on her. The bruise near her temple looked faint now, barely purple. The rest was all theater. Her wrist had a bandage she probably made someone redo three times until it looked perfect for visitors.
And of course, she smiled when she saw me.
“Well, look who finally decided to grace me with her presence,” she purred, sitting up just enough to pose without wincing. “Thought you’d be too proud to show.”
I closed the door behind me, placed the wilted lilies on the chrome tray beside her, “I’m not here to comfort you, Lavenia. I'm here to tell you goodbye. The real kind.”
She sniffed the flowers. Her nose curled. “They're drooping.”
“They’re appropriate,” I said. “A little decayed. A little honest. Like this conversation.”
She gave a fake little laugh, soft and bright like tinsel. “You always were so... poetic. It’s adorable that you still try to sound above it all, even now. But come on, Pearl. We both know why you really came.”
I tilted my head, amused. “Do we?”
“Oh, please.” She adjusted her robe like she was getting ready to be interviewed. “You needed to see it for yourself. How much better I look with him. With them. God, Jacob’s been glued to my side. And Luther? He looks at me like I’m glass. Like if he breathes too loud I’ll break. They’re obsessed with me now. I didn’t even have to ask.”
I laughed. Out loud. A slow, indulgent sound that filled the room like wine poured too fast.
“Is this your sales pitch, Lavenia? You got the two broken brothers and think that makes you a prize?”
Her smile faltered for half a second. I leaned in, voice calm.
“You can have them. You always could. They were yours the moment they flinched when I didn’t. Jacob was a coward in expensive shoes and Luther just wanted to be told what to feel. Congratulations. You won the leftovers.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the sheets. “Don’t pretend you didn’t care. I saw the way Jacob used to look at you. He would’ve married you if you let him. You think I didn’t notice how he watched your hands when you smoked? Or how Luther always sat too close like some loyal little hound?”
I shrugged. “I knew. I also knew it wouldn’t last. Lust never does when it’s built on silence and secrets. What, you thought I’d cry? That I’d beg for scraps at your little hospital throne?”
Her face twitched. I saw the flicker of frustration beneath her mascara. “You’re lying. You still care. You always wanted Jacob.”
I stood up, walked to the window. The rain hadn’t started yet, but the sky outside looked like it wanted to sob.
“You know what I wanted?” I asked, my voice soft. “Peace. And a home that didn’t creak every time you lied. I wanted mornings without blood on the toothbrush and dinners without performance art. But you made sure I got neither.”
I turned back to her. “You don’t scare me anymore. You’re tired. Your tricks are tired. Jacob isn’t a trophy, Lavenia. He’s a punishment. And you, darling, are serving your sentence.”
“You think this is a punishment?” she snapped, all the sweetness gone now. “I’ve got the suite, the money, the men, and your name on everyone’s lips. I’m the one who gets to stay.”
I walked over and dropped the doghouse key onto her lunch tray, where it clinked next to untouched soup.
“You’re staying in a gilded cage. Alone. That’s not winning. That’s just surviving with better curtains. Here’s the key to my doghouse. Go ahead and move in. It suits your vomit-colored soul."
She was fuming now, but I was already halfway to the door.
“You don’t get to walk away,” she shouted. “You don’t get the last word!”
I opened the door, calm as fog. “Sweetheart, I already got the last word. You’re still trying to rewrite the sentence. And oh, ‘bout the wedding? You're still invited. Not a guest, but a loser.”
I stepped into the hallway, peeling the hospital badge off my chest and tossing it in the trash. I didn’t need to slam the door to make a statement. My silence would echo plenty.
Then—voices.
“Pearl!”
Jacob. Followed by Luther. Both storming toward me like they thought they were still relevant. Luther’s eyes were sharp. Jacob looked like he hadn’t slept.
“What did you do?” Jacob snarled. “She’s screaming. What the hell did you say?”
“She’s crying,” Luther added. “Again. Screaming for you.”
I blinked at them both. Slowly. “I said goodbye. She didn’t like the taste.”
Jacob grabbed my wrist. Harder than necessary. “You’re coming back inside.”
I smiled, amused and untouched. “No, Jacob. I’m not. But you are. Go to her. Play the hero in her fever dream. That’s your role now, remember?”
“You’re so fucking cold,” he spat.
“And you’re so fucking late,” I replied. “Now let go of me.”