Found Spring Without Them

The day we took our engagement photos, the photographer said my smile looked a lot like my brother Wesley's. Stefani Lundberg, my fiancée, immediately had Wesley change into the same white tuxedo. "Perfect chance to get a few keepsake shots." When it was time to pick the photos, everyone crowded around Wesley's. Mom said he was born to wear a white tux. Dad said he looked more distinguished than me, the actual groom. Stefani studied the screen for a long moment, then pointed at a photo of Wesley looking back over his shoulder. "Let's put this one at the wedding reception. It looks great." I asked where my photo was supposed to go. Only then did she seem to remember I was there. "You and Wesley look so much alike. The guests won't even notice the difference. "Besides, he's never getting married. It's not every day he gets to wear a custom tux." I let out a quiet laugh. From the time we were kids, life had always been harder for Wesley. That meant I was the one who had to give in. If he wanted something, I was expected to hand it over. If he couldn't have it, neither could I. Even my wedding had to become the dream he never got. I slipped the only photo of Stefani and me out of the album. I was standing beside her, trying hard to smile. Now it felt like I was looking at strangers. Spring hadn't failed to come. I'd just spent too long standing in someone else's shadow, waiting for it. This time, I was done waiting. Chapter 1 I fed our photo into the studio shredder while Stefani fixed Wesley's tie. At the sound, she glanced over. "Nate, it's just a picture. Don't make a scene. It's embarrassing." Wesley sat on the couch, looking sorry. "Is Nate upset? We can use his photo at the reception instead. I don't mind." Mom grabbed his hand and frowned at me. "Your brother was born with a heart condition. He's rarely this happy. Do you really have to ruin it?" Stefani handed the invoice to the clerk. "We'll use Wesley's photo at the reception. Put two of Nate's on the digital display so he doesn't feel too bad." I stared at the shredded strips inside the machine and said nothing. Afterward, Stefani drove us to the luxury hotel hosting the wedding for the menu tasting. The private dining room had dark red tablecloths. A menu sat beside me, but she didn't even let me open it. "Cut all the seafood and spicy dishes. Replace them with mild, steamed options. Wesley's heart can't handle anything too intense. Add a few more hearty soups." The banquet manager hesitated and looked at me. "What about the groom's preferences?" Stefani finally glanced my way, that familiar impatience in her eyes. "Nate isn't picky. He's always been easygoing. Just do what I said." Wesley coughed softly. "Stefani, Nate likes spicy food. This is his wedding tasting. Don't change everything because of me." Stefani poured him a glass of warm water, her voice soft. "Don't worry about him. He'll eat anything. Drink some water." The first dish was fennel chicken soup. The sharp licorice smell hit me, and my stomach twisted. My fingers dug into the edge of the table. Stefani knew fennel made me sick. Back in college, she brought me fennel soup when I had a cold. I threw up so hard outside my dorm I couldn't stand. She took me to the hospital and told the doctor, "I'll remember. I'll never let him have fennel again." I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom. Dropping beside the toilet, I threw up until tears ran down my face and bitterness burned my throat. Footsteps stopped outside. Stefani leaned against the doorframe, sounding exhausted. "Nate, Wesley finally has an appetite, and you had to ruin everyone's meal? "Even if you're jealous I swapped your reception photo for his, you don't need to pull this pathetic act. We're about to get married. Grow up." I wiped my mouth, my voice raw. "You two enjoy the meal. Let him have the wedding too. I'm not marrying you." She froze, then laughed. "Using marriage as leverage? That's getting old." Wesley's voice carried down the hall. "Stefani, should I not have come? Nate seems really upset." Stefani turned and walked away, tossing one last line over her shoulder. "Calm down. Don't make me come back and comfort you later." I didn't go back to the private dining room. I took a cab home alone. Wedding decorations filled the apartment. White ribbons and warm string lights framed the windows. On the nightstand sat the paintbrush Stefani bought me on our first trip to the art store. I picked it up and called my mentor. "Prof. Grant, I've made my decision. I'll be in Linden Bay in a week. Is the studio still available?" The line went quiet for two seconds. "Nate... are you sure?" I stared at the "Future Mr. and Mrs." decal on the window. "I am." The lock clicked, and Stefani walked in carrying a takeout bag from the hotel. She set it on the table, then noticed the brush in my hand. "Wesley said you didn't eat, so I brought you plain oatmeal. Don't drag this out." I slipped the brush back into the drawer as her phone buzzed. A message from Wesley lit up the screen. [Stefani, I want to add a line under the reception photo. Can it say: Your Groom?] Chapter 2 Stefani locked her phone like nothing had happened. "Wesley likes to joke around. Stop reading into everything he says." I dumped the oatmeal into the trash. Her face hardened. "So now you're refusing to eat just to get back at me?" I didn't answer. The doorbell rang. A staff member from the wedding planning company walked in carrying two boxes of invitations, beaming. "Mr. Neilsen, the magnolia invitations you designed are here. Our boss said they turned out beautiful." I crouched down and opened a box. My fingers froze on the paper. Half the invitations were gone. Each one was sealed with hand-painted magnolia branches and embossed magnolia petals. I'd spent more than two months getting them right. I looked at Stefani. "Where are the rest?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like it was no big deal. "Wesley loved them, so I gave him half. He's writing in the names of his support group friends. It'll make the wedding feel livelier." "They're my wedding invitations." She frowned. "You don't even have that many friends. The rest are enough. If you run out, just send digital invites." Wesley peeked in, a stack of addressed invitations in his hands, his voice quiet. "Nate, don't blame Stefani. "I was just jealous. I'll probably never get the chance to send out wedding invitations." Stefani took them from him, her voice gentle. "Just keep writing. Don't worry about Nate. He gets upset easily. He'll get over it." The wedding planner stood there, caught between smiling and saying nothing. I neatly stacked the invitations that were left. "The rehearsal's this afternoon, right?" She nodded. "Yeah. The aisle and ceremony stage are all set. Ms. Lundberg said there's one last part of the ceremony we need to confirm." That afternoon, Stefani drove Wesley to pick up my parents. I took a cab alone. At the hotel, I found out what that "one last part" was. White roses covered the ballroom. The emcee held the ceremony schedule, looking uneasy. "Mr. Neilsen, Ms. Lundberg wants to walk down the aisle with your brother before the ceremony. Then you'll make your entrance. Can you confirm that order?" I looked at Stefani. She answered like it was perfectly reasonable. "Wesley's health isn't great. I want to walk down the aisle with him first, so he can experience what it feels like." "What about me?" She held my gaze. "You'll come in after. It doesn't interfere. He only gets this one chance. You'll have years." Phoebe, the wedding coordinator, spoke up carefully. "But, Ms. Lundberg, the opening walk is usually for the bride and groom. "If you walk with the groom's brother first, it might look a little—" Mom cut her off. "Look like what? Wesley's suffered his whole life. What's wrong with letting him live out his dream at his brother's wedding?" Dad nodded. "Nate, stop being so petty. Wesley isn't stealing your moment." Wesley lowered his eyes, the corners turning red. "Nate, maybe we should forget it. I don't want people getting the wrong idea." Stefani brushed a wrinkle from his tux. "They won't. And if they do, I'll explain. You just worry about looking handsome." I stood in a dark corner, out of reach of the lights. Suddenly, I didn't feel like arguing anymore. Anything I fought for would just be taken from me again. The emcee held out the ceremony schedule. "Mr. Neilsen, would you still like to sign off on it?" I took the pen but didn't sign. Instead, I folded the schedule and slipped it into my bag. That night, Stefani slept in the guest room. Wesley was a light sleeper. He claimed he was anxious about the wedding, so he'd recently moved into our apartment. Through the closed door, Stefani read him a bedtime story, her voice soft and steady. "Don't be scared. I'll stay by your side the whole wedding day." I sat alone in the living room, canceled our honeymoon tickets to the Maldives, and booked a one-way train to Linden Bay for seven days later. The confirmation popped up on my phone. At the same time, Wesley's quiet laugh drifted from the guest room. I turned on the shredder and fed the remaining invitations through one by one. Stefani came out and froze at the scraps covering the floor. "Nate Neilsen, have you lost your mind?" I pushed in the last invitation and met her eyes. Before she could say anything, her phone lit up again. Wesley had sent her a photo. He'd written [Your Groom] across the back of the reception picture, with a red heart underneath. Chapter 3 I unplugged the shredder as Stefani walked into the guest room with her phone. The door didn't shut all the way, and her voice slipped through the gap. "Wesley, don't write stuff like that. Nate might get the wrong idea." The next day marked seven years since Stefani and I got together. Before leaving that morning, she set a reservation card on the dining table. "Seven tonight. Skyline Restaurant. I'll make it up to you with a real date. Let's forget everything that happened yesterday." I stared at the card, and for a second, I almost believed her. At seven, I put on her favorite white shirt and waited by the restaurant window. At seven-thirty, my phone rang. Chaos filled the background on Stefani's end—medical equipment, hurried footsteps. "Wesley's having heart palpitations. I'm outside the ER. Go ahead and eat. Don't wait for me." I tightened my grip on the fork. "Is it serious?" She paused, then her voice went cold. "Are you asking because you're worried about him, or because you're mad I'm missing our anniversary again?" I said nothing. After we hung up, I packed the untouched food and went to the hospital. The room door was cracked open. Wesley was already awake, propped against the pillows. He looked way healthier than I expected. Stefani sat beside him, holding a velvet box. She opened it and took out a pair of ruby cuff links. The clasps were engraved with the initials WN. Wesley Neilsen. A month ago, she'd taken me to have them custom-made. She said the rubies looked good against my skin and planned to give them to me the day before our wedding. She fastened them onto Wesley's cuffs, her voice soft. "This color suits you better. Your wrists are so slim. They look better on you than anyone." I stood outside the door, the takeout growing cold in my hands. Mom came down the hall. The second she saw me, her face darkened. "Wesley almost died, and you're dressed like that? All you care about is your anniversary. You're heartless." Dad frowned. "Wesley's sick. Stop upsetting him." Stefani stepped out too. Her gaze dropped to my bare cuffs, as she'd only just remembered. "About the cuff links... I'll get you another pair later." When I didn't answer, she frowned. "Nate, don't make a big deal out of it. They're just cuff links." I looked at her. For seven years, I'd told myself she was just softhearted. That she cared about someone who was sick but would never crush me to do it. I was wrong. I gave a small nod. "No need." Back at the apartment, I took the paintbrush from the drawer. Beside it sat a thick scrapbook packed with seven years of memories—movie stubs, postcards, train tickets, and every love letter she'd written me. I shoved it all into a black trash bag with every gift she'd ever given me and carried it downstairs. The second I opened the dumpster, the sour stench hit me. I didn't hesitate. The bag landed with a dull thud. My phone buzzed. Phoebe had sent the final rehearsal schedule, along with an updated seating chart. A new display had been added beside the reception area. [Best Wishes from Wesley's Support Group] Phone in hand, I thought of the stack of invitations Wesley had been holding. He was bringing his guests to my wedding. The next day, I went to the hotel. Phoebe was directing workers as they set up the new display. It was covered in photos and messages from Wesley's support group. At the center was the shot of him in the white tux, glancing back over his shoulder. When Phoebe saw me, she looked embarrassed. "Mr. Neilsen, Ms. Lundberg said it was a surprise display. She added it last night." I pointed at the photo. "Where's the reception portrait?" Chapter 4 Phoebe handed me the tablet. The reception homepage no longer showed a photo of Stefani and me. It had been replaced with a solo portrait of Wesley. [Your Groom] was gone. In its place was one line: [May every regret be met with kindness.] "Who picked that caption?" Phoebe glanced toward the door. "Ms. Lundberg approved it just now." Stefani walked in carrying a cup of warm water. She handed it to Wesley, then looked at me. "Nate, good. You're here. Wesley's support group is coming, so I already added seats for them." "What about my coworkers and friends?" I asked. She shrugged it off. "They can sit farther back. Wesley's friends aren't in great health, so they need to be closer to the entrance." I looked at the names shoved into the corner of the seating chart. My college roommate. The professor who'd once praised my paintings. The only former coworker I'd invited. Stefani gave my wrist a gentle squeeze. "A wedding is for the guests. Don't stress over the seating, okay?" Wesley sat in his wheelchair, his eyes reddening again. "Nate, are you still mad at me? Maybe I shouldn't come." Mom immediately glared at me. "Wesley's pushing himself just to attend your wedding. What more do you want?" I pulled my hand from Stefani's grip. "I never said he couldn't come." Stefani gave a satisfied nod. "That's better." At lunch, Wesley suddenly clutched his chest and started gasping. He said a specialist in the next city could see him, but the only opening was the morning of our wedding. Mom panicked and grabbed my arm. "Nate, cancel the daytime garden ceremony. Move it indoors tonight. Stefani and the rest of us need to take Wesley to Dr. Morgan. No one's going to deal with your wedding on top of that." Stefani didn't hesitate. "An evening ceremony works better anyway. It'll be too windy outside for Wesley. We'll be back that afternoon, so nothing will be delayed." I looked at her. "So we're skipping the first look, family photos, and the outdoor shoot?" Her voice stayed soft. "They're just formalities. You've always been the understanding one. I knew you'd be fine with it." I nodded. "Fine. We'll do it that night." She relaxed. "Don't be so cold. After the wedding, I'll get you a new pair of cuff links." I said nothing. That evening, I went back to the apartment, opened my laptop, and changed my train ticket to Linden Bay to ten on the morning of the wedding. Then I scheduled a secondhand pickup for six-thirty the next morning. Once everything was set, I tucked the old paintbrush into the bottom of my suitcase. *** Wedding morning arrived. Stefani helped a bundled-up Wesley into the car. Mom carried his medication bag while Dad rushed the driver. Stefani rolled down the window and looked at me. "Take a cab to the hotel and get ready. Be good. Tonight, I'll give you a wedding you'll never forget." Leaning against her shoulder, Wesley gave me a faint smile. "Thanks for all the hard work, Nate." After the car disappeared, I went back upstairs. The secondhand pickup crew arrived right on time. Clothes, books, everyday stuff—even the pothos plant—went with them. The apartment was empty in no time. The "Future Mr. and Mrs." decal still clung to the window, almost mocking me. At ten, the train pulled out of the station. I deleted Stefani's number and my parents' contacts, deactivated every social media and messaging account, pulled out my SIM card, and dropped it into a trash bag. *** Third-Person POV At seven that evening, the hotel lobby glowed with light. Stefani wheeled Wesley through the entrance while his parents walked beside them, wearing tired but composed smiles. The wedding coordinator spotted them and hurried over. "Ms. Lundberg, the groom never showed up! His phone's off, and no one can reach him!"