Seven Years Gone

In our seven years of dating, Jordan Harding forbade me from accessing his computer.

For once during his business trip, he forgot to switch it off.

While tidying up his study, I caught a glimpse of the lit-up screen.

“Jordan, are you honestly planning a wedding with Molly in Slandsdeca?

“Sure, the marriage isn’t official, but shouldn’t you worry about Eve going mad when she finds out?

“It’s three days to your wedding with her here.

“Get a grip!”

Jordan’s best friend, Tom Bloomfield, confronted him on WhatsApp.

I gripped the desk for support, thinking I was in a dream for a moment.

Molly Powell was Jordan’s girlfriend back when he was eighteen.

They broke up soon after because of the long distance.

It had been eight years since then.

It didn’t make sense that Jordan would hold a wedding with her when ours was right around the corner.

Veins bulged on the back of my hands as I clutched the edge of the desk. I stared intently at the computer screen, eager to see Jordan’s response.

It didn’t take long for Jordan to respond.

“It’s happening. My mind has never been clearer.

“It’s a promise Molly and I made when we were eighteen. It’s the only thing she asked of me, and I must fulfil it.

“As for Eve…”

He stopped for what felt like forever.

“She won’t find out anyway. I’ll just pretend like none of this ever happened.”

I stared at the words in disbelief. It took a while before a wry smile broke across my face.

Too bad.

I had already found out.

Pulling a chair over, I took a seat and held the mouse with my trembling hand to scroll over to Jordan’s chat with Molly.

In the seven years I had been with Jordan, I had no idea.

Jordan and Molly had been in touch every single day.

When Molly shared a picture of the kitten she came across today, Jordan would reply, “It’s as cute as you.”

If Molly were to vent about work stress and her annoying boss, Jordan would text back earnestly, “Feeling stressed means you’re progressing. Don’t overthink it. I’m right here with you.”

Molly sent a meme about being afraid of the dark during a power cut in her neighborhood. Without thinking twice, Jordan replied, “On my way.”

It was the same day I was rolling around in bed, writhing in pain from period cramps.

Jordan rushed out the door, not even pausing for a second to get me some painkillers.

I scrolled through snippets of their daily interactions, picking up Jordan’s devotion and care behind his words.

The hardest pill to swallow was the incident happening this past month.

Jordan and Molly were planning their wedding.

He asked her, “Where’s your ideal wedding venue? Do you fancy a wedding on a snowy mountain or an open lawn? We can do both if you want.”

Jordan spammed her with photos of wedding dresses in every style possible. “Which one catches your eye? Are you looking for something minimalist, satin, or embellished? I cleared my afternoon schedule. I’ll pick you up at three for your fitting.”

He threw himself into every aspect of her wedding, be it the venue or the choice between ribbons and confetti.

Jordan barely had time to breathe.

As for our wedding, he didn’t care whether it was held back home or in the city.

I wanted him to come dress shopping with me, but he claimed he was too busy and told me to pick whatever.

Jordan simply took a quick look at the guest list I had put together before signing off. His response remained the same. “You can decide. I’m down with whatever.”

I honestly thought Jordan wasn’t one to fret over the details.

That was before today, when I came across his chat logs with Molly.

Jordan put together three separate PowerPoint presentations, each with twenty slides, to help Molly choose between a veil and a tiara.