The Dress Was Never the Problem

On the day I went to try on my wedding dress, Enzo had said he would come with me—but he never showed up. The train of the gown was too long. I stood alone in front of the mirror, bending over again and again to fix it more than a dozen times. The third time I stepped on the hem, my phone finally buzzed. 'Natalie just came back and isn't used to the weather here. I'll go pick her up. You try on the dress first.' The next second, a new post popped up on social media. Natalie had uploaded a photo. In it, Enzo was crouched in front of her, one hand wrapped around her slender ankle as he carefully fastened the strap of her high heels. The caption was only one line. 'He still couldn't bear to let me bend down.' When I tapped into the post, I saw that Enzo had already liked it. The bridal assistant sensed the shift in the air and tried to comfort me in a low voice. "Ms. Blackwood, Mr. Beck really cares about you. He was worried you might secretly diet and hurt your health, so he specifically told us not to alter the waistline any further." I smiled. He cared about me, yes. But his care had never stopped him from favoring someone else. I lowered my head and looked at the wedding dress on my body. Then it suddenly struck me. The thing that did not fit had never been the dress. It was this wedding. Chapter 1 The Dress That Never Fit Early the next morning, the sound of the door unlocking came from the living room. A moment later, the corner of my blanket was lifted, and a cool hand slid around my waist from behind, pulling me into an embrace. "Stop pretending. I knew you were awake the moment I walked in." Enzo Beck chuckled softly, his chin brushing against the hollow of my neck. "After all these years, when have you ever slept well without me beside you?" His casual teasing made my eyes sting instantly. He knew everything, yet he had still left me alone all night without a word. The crisp scent of body wash drifted into my nose. I frowned, but beneath it, I could still catch a trace of perfume—sweet, cloying, unmistakable. It was Natalie Spencer's favorite brand, completely at odds with the cool, woody scent I usually wore. My stomach churned. Suddenly, it felt like nothing I said would matter. So I pried his hand off my waist, threw back the covers, and got out of bed, walking barefoot into the bathroom. Cold water splashed against my face, droplets running down from my chin. I lifted my head and looked at myself in the mirror—pale, with dark circles carved beneath my eyes after an entire sleepless night. Footsteps followed behind me. Enzo stepped in and wrapped his arms around my waist again. In the mirror, he looked refreshed, almost radiant. Every part of him carried the unmistakable glow of someone thoroughly indulged. "Still mad? Just because I didn't go with you yesterday?" He sighed. "I've already gone with you to try that dress several times. What's wrong with missing it once? Natalie just got back. She was alone with all that luggage. "As a friend, I had to pick her up. You're usually so reasonable. Why make a fuss over something this small? Do you really have to give me the silent treatment over this?" "I'm fine." I brushed his hands away, hung the towel back on the rack, and turned to leave. "Really?" Enzo followed me out, sounding noticeably more relaxed. "Did you finalize the dress yesterday, then? Send me the bill. I'll sign it." I walked over to the bedside table, pulled open the drawer, and took out the stamped order form. Without looking at him, I walked straight to the shredder by the desk and fed the bill into it. The machine whirred to life. The order form, with its waistline altered more than a dozen times, was reduced to thin strips of paper and dropped into the bin. He froze for two seconds before turning and grabbing my wrist. "What are you doing?" His expression darkened, anger barely restrained. "What kind of tantrum is this? You're even canceling the wedding dress now?" His grip tightened painfully around my wrist. I lowered my eyes to the veins standing out on the back of his hand and realized I did not even have the strength to argue. "I'm not making a fuss." I met his gaze and slowly pulled my hand free. "That shop kept altering the waist, but it still didn't fit. I don't want it anymore." Then I pushed past him, walked to the entryway, and changed my shoes. Just before the door closed, I heard him calling his assistant from the living room. Chapter 2 Ruined Pages "Check what happened at the bridal shop yesterday. Right now! Find out who upset her this time. I swear, this is hell. Tell the manager to remake the dress in the original size and send it over." The hallway was quiet. I stood by the elevator as cold air poured from the vent, chilling me to the bone. What he didn't understand was that it had never been about the dress. It was about his favoritism. I took out my phone, opened my notes, and found the wedding schedule. Then, I swiped left and tapped delete. … After work, I went straight to our newly renovated marital apartment to pick up the drafts I had left behind. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I saw a pair of women's shoes by the door—the same pair from the social media post the day before. I stared at them for two seconds, then unlocked the door. The living room was quiet. Natalie sat on the cream-colored sofa we had spent three months picking out together, wearing an oversized T-shirt. The moment she saw me, she jumped to her feet, flustered, and called out instinctively, "Enzo!" The study door opened at once, and Enzo walked out. When he saw me standing at the entrance, surprise flickered in his eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. "I…" Enzo stepped toward me. "Natalie isn't comfortable staying alone in a hotel. And with me not around, it isn't convenient for her to stay at my parents' place either, so I let her stay here for a few days. She'll move out once she finds her own place." Natalie looked up at me timidly, her voice soft and aggrieved. "Estelle, I know I shouldn't have done this, but my parents… They passed away in a hotel fire back then… If it bothers you, I can find a shared place and make do for a few days." As she spoke, she reached for her phone. "Natalie!" Enzo stopped her, frowning. "Don't. Estelle won't mind." I looked at him quietly—at the man I had loved for so many years. He stood in front of me, utterly certain of himself, handing over our marital home to another woman as if it were only natural, not even allowing me a say. My gaze swept across the apartment. I had designed every inch of this place. We had chosen the sofa together. I had personally mixed the paint for the walls. Even the artwork hanging there was mine. And now, Natalie sat in the middle of it all, perfectly at ease, basking in his protection. My eyes fell on the oversized T-shirt she was wearing, and my thoughts drifted back to the day we painted the walls. I had been afraid he would stain his suit, so I bought him a change of clothes. I had hesitated for a long time before giving it to him, worried he would think it looked cheap. But not only had he not disliked it, he had even said he would wash it and keep it properly. Yet now, the shirt he had once said he wanted to treasure was being worn so casually by her. Rain drizzled softly outside, and something inside me turned damp and heavy along with it. I did not want to argue or lose control. I simply looked around for my sketchbook. Near the coffee table, a half-dried towel lay on the floor. My sketchbook was pinned beneath it, one corner sticking out. I crouched down and pulled it free. The damp part of the towel had soaked through the back half. The pages were waterlogged, colors bleeding into each other—blue, green, red, all smeared into a muddy mess. My fingers trembled as I flipped through it. Page after page… Ruined. Natalie could not read what lay beneath my calm, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. "I-I'm sorry… I thought the sketchbook was really cute, and the story inside was so touching, so I flipped through it for a bit. I didn't expect to forget where I put it after my shower… Is it important to you? I study art too. I can compensate you, okay?" I held the soaked, ruined sketchbook and felt nothing but emptiness. Then I stood, slipped it into my bag, and turned to leave. "Estelle," Enzo grabbed my wrist. "Natalie didn't mean it. Don't—" "It's fine." It really did not matter anymore. The door closed behind me. In the elevator, the metal doors reflected a blurred version of my face. Chapter 3 The Promise I Couldn't Keep I could hear the muffled scolding from inside the room, Natalie's attempts to explain, and her broken sobs. But none of it mattered anymore. … That night, after I got home, I spread out the picture book and tried to fix it. Just as I was about to pick up my pen, my phone lit up. It was a message from the shop handling our wedding favors, asking me to confirm the design. I tapped it open. On the screen were two cartoon figures modeled after Enzo and me. The lines were smooth, the colors warm. When I had drawn them, my heart had been full of happiness. Now, only disappointment remained. I lingered for a moment, then typed a few words. 'Thank you, but I won't need this anymore.' The moment I sent the message, my phone rang. It was the chief editor I had been working with. "Ms. Blackwood, I'm very sorry to inform you that our collaboration has to be terminated. We can't disclose the specific reasons. We've simply found a more suitable candidate. My apologies." The call ended. The dull hum of the disconnected line filled my ear as I held the phone, my fingertips turning cold. For some reason, one thought surfaced in my mind. I pulled up Enzo's number and called him directly. "The publishing deal is being terminated. That was you, wasn't it?" There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. I knew that silence all too well. Every time he needed to gather his thoughts—every time he was about to say something that would hurt me—it was exactly like this. "Natalie's situation is more difficult than yours," he finally said. "She suffered domestic abuse overseas and only just managed to get divorced and come back. She needs a way to rebuild her life. Back then, her family saved my parents. My parents promised to take care of her. Please understand where I'm coming from." I lowered my eyes and stared at the smeared colors on the page. My tears fell without warning. This picture book had been left unfinished when my mother passed away. I had promised her that no matter what, I would see it published. It had taken me three years. Stroke by stroke, I completed what she had left behind. I had tested every shade of color myself. I rebuilt the story based on her notes. Back then, at her bedside, I had promised her two things: that I would live well with Enzo, and that I would publish this book. Now, I had failed both. Perhaps he heard the faint change in my breathing, because his tone softened slightly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to find you a better publisher to make up for this. I won't let your story be buried." "No need." I did not want to continue this story anymore. … Life went on quietly, as if nothing had happened. I shut myself inside my studio and locked the door. Every draft, every sketch, every version of the book I had worked on—I organized them all and stored them deep inside a cabinet. Then, I spread out a fresh sheet of paper and started again. This time, I would draw a new story, one that belonged only to my mother. Three days later, my phone rang. It was an international number. "Hello, is this Ms. Estelle Blackwood? We are the most renowned independent art publishing house in Falden. We came across some of the works you previously posted online and would like to acquire your series." I froze for a moment. That institution in Falden was one of the top in the industry, with extremely high standards. I had submitted to them three times before and never even received a reply. For them to approach me out of nowhere, it was most likely Enzo's doing. "I'm sorry," I said, steadying myself. "I don't have any plans to sell my work at the moment." There was a brief pause. Then, a mocking laugh came through the line. "Ms. Blackwood, there is no need to act so high and mighty. An opportunity handed to you through Mr. Beck's connections, and you still refuse it? Do you really think you got here on your own ability?" Even through the foreign language, the insult was unmistakable. I said nothing and hung up. A few days later, I browsed through smaller publishing houses and studios, hoping to find another possibility. Then, one name suddenly caught my eye. I clicked into it. The introduction contained only a single line—'Never forget why you started.' There was nothing harder than holding on to that reason. I stared at those words for a long time. Chapter 4 Nothing Left Worth Holding on To Then, I opened my email, organized the revised sample pages of the picture book, filled out the submission form, and clicked send. … Just before I got off work, Enzo's mother, Camellia Crawford, called. She asked me to return to the family home for dinner and finalize the wedding arrangements. I held my phone, watching her name flash across the screen, quietly rehearsing how I would explain that I wanted to cancel the wedding. When I arrived, I had barely pushed open the living room door when laughter spilled out. Natalie sat close beside Camellia on the sofa, their arms linked, chatting intimately. Both of them were smiling brightly. I, on the other hand, stood at the entryway like an outsider who did not belong. Camellia patted Natalie's hand, her tone full of regret. "If you hadn't gone abroad back then, you'd be the one marrying Enzo now instead of that small-minded woman!" I continued to change my shoes, though my stomach churned with disgust. I might not have parents anymore, but they had left me with more than enough. Still, in their eyes, that wasn't enough to make me respectable. "Mom, that's enough." Enzo frowned and cut her off. "I truly love Estelle. Stop comparing her to Natalie." As he spoke, his gaze fell on me, gentle and placating, and he stepped closer as if to take my hand. But I avoided him and walked toward the sofa. Camellia noticed me, her smile fading as she spoke coolly, "Since you're here, sit." Her hand remained firmly clasped around Natalie's, as though I were nothing more than a stranger. I had barely taken a step closer when my gaze froze. Around Natalie's neck hung an emerald necklace that had belonged to my mother. Noticing where I was looking, Natalie lifted a hand to touch it, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face. "Mrs. Beck gave this to me. She said it suits me. What do you think?" I stared at the necklace, my voice turning cold. "Since, when did my mother's belongings become the Beck family's property?" Camellia's expression darkened. She stood abruptly and pointed at me. "Your mother lent me that necklace back then. If you had even half her generosity, you wouldn't be so petty! It's just a worthless necklace. Don't act like anyone actually cares about it." I let out a faint, humorless laugh. "Have you ever heard of borrowing something and returning it? Keeping it for yourself is one thing, but to pass it on to someone else? Aren't you afraid the dead might come knocking in the middle of the night?" "How dare you?" Camellia trembled with anger, her finger shaking as she pointed at me. "How dare you speak to me like that!" Enzo quickly stepped forward and grabbed my arm, lowering his voice. "Estelle, the wedding is just around the corner. There's no need to fall out over a necklace. Once we're married, what's mine is yours. If you want a necklace, we can pick the most expensive one tomorrow, alright?" I looked at him coldly. There was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. To me, however, that sincerity felt unbearably cheap. "I don't care for anything you have." I slowly pulled my hand free. "This marriage is over!" The living room fell silent. Camellia froze for a moment before her voice shot up. "You think you can just cancel the wedding like that? Who do you think we are? A family you can cling to and dump as you please? You think you matter to us?" I ignored her, stepped forward, and yanked the necklace off Natalie's neck. "Ah!" Natalie cried out, clutching her throat as she shrank back, tears falling instantly. "Enzo, she—" "Estelle, that's enough!" Enzo seized my wrist, his brows drawn tight. "Do you have to throw a tantrum at a time like this?" I wrenched my hand free, clenched the necklace in my palm, and turned to leave without another glance. The night wind hit my face, and the necklace pressed painfully into my skin. … When I got home, my phone buzzed. It was an acceptance notice from that small studio. I stared at the screen for a long time, my eyes stinging. Then, I placed the necklace into a drawer. Opening my wardrobe, I took out a suitcase, packed a few everyday clothes, and grabbed my drawing board. Then, I opened my phone and booked a ticket to a small southern town. There was nothing left in this city worth holding on to.