The Groom Who Fled
The phone rang early in the morning. Still half-asleep, Emily heard Victor’s hoarse, nervous voice on the other end:
“Emily… I… I need to tell you…” He hesitated, as if searching for words. “I’ve thought it over… I’m not ready. You see, not ready to marry. I’m confused. I… don’t even know what I feel for you now.”
Emily froze. Her heart pounded in her ears. She forced out the words: “Are you serious? A week before the wedding?”
“There won’t be a wedding,” he said firmly, as if he’d rehearsed it.
“What?!” she gasped.
“I want to start a new life. My career, my goals. And you… you’ll find happiness. You deserve better.”
Click. He hung up.
Emily sat motionless. Then, as if in a dream, she stood, walked to the cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She drank from the glass—no chaser, no taste, no thought.
And then… she screamed, a cry so raw the walls seemed to shudder in pain.
Their story had lasted four years. It had felt like love. Real love. A chance meeting—Emily had brought her laptop to the repair shop, and Victor fixed it. When he returned it, he asked for her number. A few days later, he invited her out. She said yes. And so it began.
Six months in, he confessed: he wanted to move abroad. More opportunities, he said.
“Will you come with me?” he’d asked, half-expecting her to refuse.
But she went.
She left everything—her job, her friends, her family. Because she loved him. Because she believed. Because he was everything to her.
He went first to “get settled.” He met her at the airport—no flowers, no smile, no light in his eyes.
“Aren’t you happy?” she whispered.
“Just tired. Things are complicated.”
He took her not to a flat but to a hostel, to a room divided by a curtain.
“I thought you’d rented a place…”
“I did at first,” he muttered. “Then the money ran out. Can’t find work.”
Emily hugged him. Said they’d get through it. And she went to work. Not in her field, but wherever would take her. She cleaned, scrubbed, walked dogs. Took any odd job she could find.
And she got him work too. Spoke to a client, persuaded them. Victor got his chance.
Things improved. They found their footing. Rented a proper place. Dreamed of the future. Talked of a family.
But Victor never stayed anywhere long. He was let go quickly. Emily carried them both. Back to the hostel, back to searching. She worked. He… wandered.
“Vic, maybe enough?” Emily finally snapped one day. “We’ve lived like vagrants for nearly two years. Back home, we had lives. Here, it’s just survival. Let’s go back.”
He was silent. Then nodded. A month later, they were home.
Emily returned to her old job. They welcomed her warmly. Victor got work on a trial basis—passed it, thrilled as a boy.
Two weeks later, he proposed: “Shall we register at the registry office?”
Emily glowed. They planned the wedding. She stayed with her parents—moving in together before marriage was out of the question.
“My parents don’t believe in living together unwed,” she explained.
“And yet you flew abroad with me?” he scoffed.
“I told them I was visiting a friend. Didn’t confess.”
He laughed. She dreamed.
But soon, he was pulled into a new project. Two weeks without a call, a text. Then it hit him—he didn’t miss her.
“And I was going to marry her…” he thought. “But why? Forever? Is this really what I want?”
He made his decision. Called.
After that morning, Emily took sick leave. Spent a week in bed. Cried. Didn’t eat. Didn’t live.
Then came the anger.
“So, he’s confused? Doesn’t know what he feels?” she whispered to the emptiness. “And me? The one who followed him to a foreign country? Worked for us both? Couldn’t even say it to my face. Over the phone. Ran away. Coward.”
First pain. Then resolve.
“Thank God!” she told herself. “I didn’t leave him—he left me. And that’s even better! The groom fled? Then it’s not my loss—it’s his. Now I know: I matter more. No more sacrifices. Only forward. Only me.”
She stepped outside. The city was in bloom. Spring sang at every corner. Emily walked—and smiled for the first time in ages. The sun shone just for her.
Yes, the memories lingered. The tears. The unanswered questions. But she didn’t call. Didn’t beg. Didn’t plead.
“Enough,” she repeated. “He was a lesson. Thank you for that. I’m stronger now. I’m smart, beautiful—my whole life’s ahead. Just need to keep walking. No looking back.”
Months later, she gathered all his gifts, photos, every memento. Packed them in a box. Took it to the bin.
“Time for a clean slate,” she told her mother with a smile.
And Victor?
He’s just… living. Word is, he’s job-hunting again.
