In the past, I would’ve been out the door in seconds, running after her, pleading for her to come back. But this time, I stayed planted on the couch. The TV continued playing a mediocre comedy, and despite everything, I found myself laughing.
A couple of hours later, my buddy Alfie Steele called. On the other end, he sounded shocked. “Bro, did you and your fiancée have a fight?”
“No, we didn’t,” I replied casually.
“Then why did she come to me saying you’re calling off the engagement? What the hell is going on?” he asked.
Everyone knew I’d been the doting, henpecked fiancé for as long as they could remember. I always let Sacha call the shots, so they had to sneak me out just for us to hang out together. Because of that, Sacha never liked my friends, calling them bad influences and forbidding me from seeing them. So, the fact that she went to Alfie spoke volumes.
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired, man,” I admitted.
“Tired? Dude, this isn’t like you. If something is going on between you two, why not just talk it out?” Alfie suggested. “You’ve always said you’d only marry her. You’re so close to getting engaged—why stop now?”
“Maybe it’s because I’m so close that I’m finally seeing things clearly,” I sighed.
“What do you mean?” Alfie asked, puzzled.
“I just realized that if I marry her, I’ll be living this same kind of life every single day in the future. And I don't want that,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“Bro, everyone’s life is a mess at some point. Just make sure you’re thinking clearly,” Alfie advised.
Sacha always thought my friends were no good, that they were just as useless as me. But when we had problems, these friends of mine—whom she despised—stood up for her. Meanwhile, her friends she thought highly of would only add fuel to a fire whenever we argued. I had to not only placate her but also cater to them.
Sacha didn’t come home for the next two days, leaving only four days until our engagement.
Then, around 8 p.m. on the third day, my phone buzzed with a video call from her. I answered the call, only to see her and Craig, heads pressed together. She was grinning, cheeks flushed as she fed him wine by biting the rim of the glass.
“Oops! Sorry, Sacha! I was trying to record a video of you but accidentally called Errol instead,” came a panicked voice from the other side.