Chapter 3The Wedding Before Mine

Once Della was calm, Mike’s gaze, dark and menacing, fell on me. "I know you're upset that I married her and we're having a baby behind your back. You can take it out on me, I get it. I should have told you."

He took a step closer. "But you do not get to hurt Della. Her health is fragile. She’s been through enough." His voice rose with indignation. "All she did was ask me for a chance to be a mother. Is that so wrong? Why should she have to suffer your anger?"

He pointed a shaking finger at me. "You are going to apologize to her. Right now."

My whole body trembled with a rage I could barely contain. "And what did I do wrong?" I hissed. "Tell me, Mike, what exactly did I do wrong?"

He stared into my blazing eyes and faltered for a second.

"It's okay, Mike, really," Della sniffled from the safety of his arms. "Even though I almost fell to my death… I don't blame my sister. I don't need an apology." She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "You and Clara still have to get married. I don't want you fighting because of me."

Mike sighed, his expression softening as he looked at her. "Della, you're too good. It's heartbreaking sometimes." He turned back to me, his eyes cold again. "You're just jealous of her. You can't stand to see her happy."

He paused. "Fine. Della is speaking up for you, so if you don't want to apologize, you don't have to. But if you ever try to hurt her again, I swear, I won't be so lenient."

He scooped Della into his arms and, just before leaving, shot me one last look of utter disappointment. "You can't even compare to your sister."

The silence of the living room pressed in on me. I watched the dead leaves drift past the window, then sank to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and finally let myself sob.

One last time. This was the last time I would ever cry for Mike.

That afternoon, he posted again. A nine-photo grid of our future home, the one we had picked out together. Each picture showed a different corner, a different room.

The caption read: Every room, every piece of furniture, every little detail, all chosen with love to give my baby a warm and happy home.

The comments poured in.

Congrats, Mike! A baby on the way!

So you and Clara are having a baby! Wonderful news!

Clara is so lucky to have a husband like you! I'm so jealous!

I wouldn't miss your wedding in three months for a billion-dollar deal!

As the congratulations flowed, Della dropped a bomb in the comments. Oh, everyone, don't get the wrong idea. This isn't Mike's marital home. It's my house.

An awkward silence fell over the comment section.

I was the one to break it. Three's a crowd. I'm out. Wishing you two happiness.

Then, without a second thought, I blocked both of them.

My phone rang almost immediately. It was Mike. "Clara, have you lost your mind?"

"I'm perfectly sane," I said, my voice flat.

"That comment you left—you're deliberately trying to make Della look bad," he seethed. "You just had to paint her as a homewrecker, didn't you? Is that what makes you happy? Keep slandering her, and this wedding is off!"

His cruel words washed over me, but I felt nothing. The part of me that cared was already dead.

"Mike," I said, my voice eerily calm. "What on earth makes you think I'd still want your sloppy seconds?"