The second time, the same female student had a stomachache and wanted to eat a small cake from the south of the city. He drove three hours to buy it, leaving me alone to apologize to the guests and drink until my stomach hurt.
Every single time we tried to have our ceremony, that girl had an emergency, and he would always rush to her side, leaving me alone in my gown.
“She’s afraid of the dark and needs company when practicing at night,” he’d say. “You’re just a housewife. You’ll never understand the thrill of the racetrack. Meanwhile, Adele and I share the same passion, making us soulmates.”
And today, on what should’ve been our wedding day for the fifty-second time, her video arrived right on schedule.
In it, in the racing car that Sebastian had always cherished, like his life—forbidding even my slightest touch—two figures were entwined in a frenzy. She was practically half-naked, straddling him in the driver’s seat, pressing his head to her chest while smirking at the camera… at me.
I’d seen enough. Now, I was sure she was the reason he kept canceling our wedding ceremony for five years now.