You Can Keep My Fiancé

1 My fiancé and my childhood best friend were sworn enemies. For the five years of our relationship, Garrett and Sophie were like oil and water. They bickered over everything, constantly competing for my time, my attention, and my loyalty. It was exhausting, but in a quiet, foolish way, I found it sweet. I thought I was simply loved by the two most important people in my life, caught in the middle of a harmless, protective tug-of-war. Then, Sophie’s parents died in a horrific head-on collision on the interstate. Within a month, she was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. Overnight, Garrett’s attitude changed. The first time Sophie tried to end her life, slitting her wrists in her bathtub, it was Garrett who broke down her bathroom door. Terrified she would try again if left alone, he suggested she move into the townhouse we had just bought as our future marital home. On our next Valentine’s Day date, he insisted she join us, seating her between us at the restaurant and spending the entire evening putting food onto her plate. Whenever I quietly voiced my discomfort, Garrett would pull me into his arms, his eyes welling with defensive hurt. "Audrey, if Sophie actually goes through with it, the guilt will destroy you. I’m doing this because I can’t bear to see you broken." His words made me feel incredibly selfish. I swallowed my doubts, buried my unease, and tried to be an even better friend to Sophie to make up for my private resentment. But then came the day of our wedding rehearsal. I woke up at five in the morning to get my hair and makeup professionally done. I sat in my dress, waiting in the kitchen, but Garrett never came to pick me up. My calls went straight to voicemail; my texts remained unread. Panicked, I took an Uber to the venue—a luxury penthouse ballroom on the ninetieth floor of a downtown Chicago skyscraper. When I pushed open the double doors, the room was quiet. There, in the center of the aisle, Garrett was on one knee, gently sliding a diamond band onto Sophie’s finger. I froze in the doorway, the air instantly leaving my lungs as if I had fallen through the floor. I made a move to step forward, to scream, but my parents grabbed my arms from behind, anchoring me in place. "Audrey, stop," my mother whispered, her grip tight and bruising. "Sophie is highly unstable right now. Don't trigger her." "She lost her parents, Audrey," my father added, his brow furrowed with disapproval. "She has no family left to do this for her. Just let her have this moment." Looking at their defensive, blaming faces, a sudden, freezing clarity washed over me. This suffocating, over-allocated love? I didn't want it anymore. This biased, enabling family? I was done with them, too. On the stage, the coordinator was quietly explaining the mechanics of the ring exchange. I stood at the back of the room, my fingers curling into tight fists, fighting a wave of pure suffocation. When we were planning the decor, I had requested classic blush and white roses. But Garrett had canceled the order, claiming Sophie’s pollen allergies were too severe, replacing them with heavy, dark burgundy velvet drapes that made the space feel like a funeral home. I have severe vertigo, which is why I had begged for an outdoor garden ceremony. But Garrett had booked this ninetieth-floor penthouse anyway. "Sophie said ninety is a lucky number," he had told me back then. "And the skyline views will look incredible in her photos." It was always about Sophie. Every time I had tried to set a boundary, he had turned it back on me, looking more wounded than I was. "We are getting married, Audrey. Why are you keeping score against your own best friend?" "She has a psychological illness. Can't we just show a little basic empathy?" Five years of devotion had been reduced to a series of moral shakedowns. When I had tried to turn to my parents for support, they had taken Sophie’s side without hesitation. "If Sophie's father hadn't bailed us out of that business bankruptcy years ago, we’d still be drowning in debt," my mother had lectured me. "The Wards were good to us. Now that they're gone, Sophie is our responsibility." "You need to grow up, Audrey. Stop throwing tantrums." Because Sophie was sad, they told me to give up the birthday dinner I had planned for six months so she could have a quiet night instead. Because Sophie was broke, they told me to hand over the inheritance my grandmother had left me for my wedding registry to help pay her rent. And now, they had given away my wedding rehearsal. What was next? Was I supposed to hand over the groom on our wedding day, too? A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. On stage, Sophie seemed to sense my presence. She turned, her eyes locking onto mine. The fragile, beautiful smile on her face froze, and her cheeks turned completely bloodless. "Audrey... it’s not what it looks like. Please let me explain..." Before she could even finish her sentence, Garrett stepped firmly in front of her, shielding her body with his own. He glared at me, his face tight with irritation. "Don't start a scene, Audrey. We are just running through the choreography of the walk." "Choreography with a different bride?" I asked, my voice flat, empty of the tears I felt behind my eyes. "Why wasn't I invited to my own rehearsal? I've been ready since five this morning. I sat in our kitchen waiting for you until noon. No calls. No texts. If I hadn't taken a cab here myself, were you even going to tell me?" Garrett’s posture stiffened, a brief flicker of shame crossing his features before he looked away. My parents remained silent, refusing to meet my eyes. Sophie’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She let out a trembling sob. "I'm so sorry, Audrey. This is all my fault. I just... I wanted to know what it felt like to have a family stand by me on a wedding day, the way my mom and dad promised they would before they died. I didn't mean to take this from you. I'll take the dress off right now. I'll give it all back." She reached frantically behind her back to pull down the zipper of the white gown, but her hands began to shake violently. She fell to her knees on the stage, weeping hysterically, her chest heaving. Garrett’s face went pale. Without a second thought, he scooped her up into his arms. My parents rushed up the steps, crowding around her, murmuring soft, desperate comforts. "It's okay, sweetheart, don't cry..." "Audrey isn't angry. You're her sister, Sophie. She would never begrudge you this." My mother shot a venomous look over her shoulder at me. "Are you happy now? You know how fragile her mental state is, and you still chose to attack her!" Garrett didn't look at me, his eyes entirely focused on the sobbing woman in his arms. "She is having a panic attack. I'm taking her home." He carried her down the aisle, past me, without stopping. My parents followed closely behind, whispering sweet, anxious reassurances to her as they went. The massive penthouse ballroom fell silent. The wedding coordinator approached me cautiously, her clipboard pressed against her chest. "Ms. Bennett... do you still want to run the rehearsal?" I stared at the heavy double doors where they had all vanished. The silence of the high-rise felt deafening. "No," I said quietly. "Not today. Not ever again." When I got back to our apartment, I dragged my suitcase out of the closet and began to pack. I only took my basic clothing, my passport, and my legal documents. I left behind the photo frames, the custom-made mugs, the matching linen—every physical scrap of our five years together. Garrett came home at dusk. He walked into the living room and glanced at the open suitcase on the floor, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. "Do you have a conference coming up?" he asked distractedly. Without waiting for my reply, he sat on the edge of the sofa, rubbing his temples. "We need to make a duplicate set of keys for the townhouse and give them to Sophie," he said, his tone casual but testing. "She's in a bad place, Audrey. Every time she goes back to her empty apartment, she starts thinking about her parents' crash. If she lives right around the corner from us, it's too risky. I think we should just have her move into our spare room." He tried to smile, offering a dry chuckle. "You used to always say you wanted to live with your best friend after we got married. Well, I’m finally agreeing to it." I stood still, looking at him for a long, quiet moment. My mind drifted back to the early years of our relationship. I remembered how he and Sophie used to bicker. If Sophie bought me a fifty-dollar lipstick for my birthday, Garrett would go out and buy me a thousand-dollar handbag. If Sophie took me to a local indie movie, Garrett would book a weekend trip to Cabo. They had seemed so competitive, so eager to prove who loved me more. How had I been so blind? Every single time Sophie ended up crying from their bickering, Garrett was the one who would eventually slip away to comfort her. He had insisted on buying our townhouse in Wicker Park—blocks away from her apartment—claiming it was a "good investment," ignoring the fact that it added three hours to my daily commute to my office. I had spent my entire summer vacation painting that place, negotiating with contractors in ninety-degree heat until I nearly fainted from heatstroke, just so we could have a home. And it was never meant for me. "Do whatever you want," I said, my voice empty. Garrett didn't notice the deadness in my tone. Relieved, he immediately pulled out his phone to text her. I caught a glimpse of his screen. My contact, which had been pinned to the top of his chat list for five years, was gone. In my place was Sophie's contact, pinned with a little heart emoji. Seeing my gaze, he frowned, quickly locking his screen. "Don't start, Audrey. You know she's sick. I need her pinned so I don't miss an emergency alert if she tries to hurt herself." I smiled. It felt like a small, sharp stitch tearing in my chest. "Sometimes I genuinely can't tell whose boyfriend you are." He bristled, his expression hardening into cold annoyance. "That is a low blow, Audrey. Sophie is your best friend, and she is clinically depressed. How can you be so incredibly bitter? It's a pinned chat. You are making a mountain out of a molehill." "Am I?" My voice remained quiet, but the words felt like needles. "If she’s my best friend, why does she never call me when she’s in crisis? Why does she only call my fiancé? If she’s clinically ill, why isn't she talking to her therapist instead of lying on my boyfriend's shoulder?" Garrett stood up abruptly, his face dark with anger. "You are completely irrational right now, and I refuse to engage with this behavior. I'm going to the office to clear my head. I won't be back tonight." The front door slammed shut, the heavy thud rattling the frames on the wall. It was his favorite tactic. Whenever Sophie came between us, he would shut down, punish me with silence, and walk away until I was forced to apologize just to keep the peace. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. Sophie had posted a photo. It was a dimly lit, cozy shot of our living room. She was lying on our sofa, wrapped in the wool throw blanket my grandmother had knitted for me. Resting gently over her lower abdomen was a man’s hand, the fingers long and distinct. On his ring finger was the white gold band I had spent three weeks picking out. The caption read: “Audrey is always the sweetest—making sure I’m taken care of during my cramps by sending her boy over to keep me warm.” Underneath, Garrett had already commented: “Some people are too stubborn to ask for help when they’re hurting, while others are busy throwing tantrums over rehearsals.” I stared at the screen. The small, petty cruelty of it didn't even sting anymore. Instead, the years of quiet compromises, the skipped dinners, the constant yielding of my own life to keep Sophie stable—it all simply evaporated. I tapped the heart icon to like the post, and typed a comment: "No need to run rehearsals anymore. You can have the wedding. I'm handing him over to you permanently." Within sixty seconds, the post was deleted. My phone began to blow up with text messages from Sophie. “Audrey, I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad, it was just a joke!” “If you’re upset, I’ll tell him to leave right now!” “I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m just so sick and lonely, I just wanted some company. Please don’t hate me.” I stared at the blue bubbles. It was always the same narrative. She was the fragile victim, and I was the cold, harsh bully. I typed back: “Couldn’t I have kept you company, Sophie? Why did it have to be my fiancé?” “If you wanted Garrett, you should have just told me. I wouldn’t have fought you for him.” “We’ve been friends for ten years. Was a man really worth doing this to me?” The three dots appeared, then vanished. No reply came. A half-hour later, the front door burst open. Garrett stormed in, his eyes wild with rage. Behind him stood Sophie, her face pale, her hands trembling. "Audrey!" Garrett roared, marching directly up to me. "What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what your petty, passive-aggressive comments do to her? Sophie almost swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills because of you! If I hadn't caught her hand in time, she’d be dead right now! Apologize to her this instant!" Before I could even blink, a sharp, loud crack echoed through the room. Sophie had slapped him across the face. She was shaking, tears streaming down her face as she screamed at him. "Garrett! Audrey is my sister! How dare you speak to her like that? Apologize to her right now, or I swear to God I will never speak to you again!" The slap was incredibly hard; Garrett’s head was turned to the side, his cheek blooming with a dark red mark. He clenched his fists, his chest heaving as he forced down his temper. He stood there for a long time, swallowing his pride, before he slowly turned back to me. His voice was incredibly quiet, completely stripped of the rage from a moment ago. "I'm sorry, Audrey. My tone was uncalled for. I apologize." He paused, his jaw tight. "But you have to understand, I only went over there to help her. You shouldn't have targeted her for my choices." I looked at the man who had frozen me out for weeks at a time, who had never once in five years offered me a sincere apology, bowing his head instantly because Sophie demanded it. It was almost comical. I wanted to laugh, but my throat felt dry and tight. The sound of keys rattling in the lock broke the silence. My parents walked in, their faces grim. My mother didn't even look in my direction; she immediately rushed over to Sophie, grabbing her hands. "Sophie, sweetheart, Garrett called us. We came as fast as we could. Are you alright?" My mother turned to me, her face twisting into deep disappointment. "Audrey, we have raised you with every advantage, and yet you’ve grown into such a bitter, selfish girl. What is wrong with you?" My father stepped forward, pointing a heavy finger at my face. "How many times do we have to tell you? Sophie is ill! All she asked was for Garrett to sit with her for an hour, and you turn it into a public spectacle? Do you have to drive this poor girl into her grave before you're finally satisfied? How did we raise such a malicious daughter?" The words felt like physical blows, knocking the wind out of me. My body began to shake, but I forced my eyes to stay dry. "Fine," I whispered, my voice trembling but clear. "Since you love Sophie so much, let her be your daughter." I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and pulled it toward the door. Garrett stepped in front of me, his brow furrowed. "Audrey, stop. Your parents are just stressed. Apologize to them, and let’s put this behind us. The wedding is in forty-eight hours. Don't make a scene we can't clean up." I looked up at him, my tears turning to ice. "There is no wedding, Garrett," I said, each word deliberate. "We are done." The room went dead silent. Garrett’s eyes widened with a mix of panic and sudden fury. "Are you insane? The catering is paid for! The deposit on the townhouse is locked in! You’re throwing a five-year relationship away over a temper tantrum?" I let out a cold, hollow laugh. "I have a lethal allergy to shellfish, Garrett. Yet you ordered lobster and crab for the reception menu because Sophie loves them. I spent three months searching for apartments near my office, and you bought a place in Wicker Park next to Sophie, forcing me into a three-hour daily commute. You gave away my wedding rehearsal today without even asking. Tell me, Garrett—whose wedding were we actually planning?" Garrett’s face drained of color. My parents stood frozen, their mouths slightly open, unable to find a reply. In the heavy silence, Sophie suddenly let out a broken, hysterical sob. "I'm sorry, Audrey! I'll give it all back! I'll leave! I'll never ask for anything again!" Before anyone could react, she grabbed a silver paring knife from the kitchen counter and dragged it hard across her forearm. "No!" my mother shrieked. Garrett let out a guttural roar and lunged forward to disarm her. As he bolted past me, his shoulder slammed heavily into my chest, throwing me backward. My lower back collided violently with the sharp marble edge of the heavy coffee table. A sickening, wet crack echoed through my ears, followed by a white-hot flash of agony that paralyzed my legs. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, gasping for air, unable to make a sound. None of them looked back. My parents and Garrett rushed Sophie out of the apartment, holding a towel to her arm, their frantic voices fading down the hallway. Before the front door slammed, my father threw a final, disgusted shout back into the apartment: "She tried to kill herself because of you! If she dies, Audrey, we will never forgive you!" The door clicked shut. The apartment fell into a dark, suffocating silence. I lay curled on the cold floor, the pain in my spine so intense that my vision kept turning black. Tears finally spilled over my cheeks as I dragged myself centimeter by centimeter toward my phone on the counter, sobbing in the dark. At the hospital, the ER physician stared at my CT scan, his expression incredibly grim. "You have a fractured lumbar vertebra, Ms. Bennett. You are incredibly lucky there's no permanent spinal cord damage, but you need strict bed rest and observation for at least a week. We need to admit you immediately." He paused, looking around the curtained bay. "Where is your emergency contact? Is there any family we can call?" Just then, through the thin curtain, the familiar voices from the adjacent room drifted over. "Sophie, eat some of this soup, sweetheart. It's still warm." My mother's voice was tender, filled with maternal warmth. "That ungrateful girl," my father's voice grumbled. "Once we get Sophie settled, Eleanor, we are going to have a serious talk with Audrey. She has crossed the line this time." I looked back at the doctor, my face completely expressionless. "I don't have any family," I whispered. Against medical advice, I refused admission. I signed the AMA forms, gritting my teeth against the blinding pain in my back as I slowly dragged myself along the corridor wall, using a metal cane from the physical therapy department to reach the billing department. At the corridor corner, I ran straight into Garrett. He stopped, staring at me in shock. When his eyes fell on the hospital discharge papers and the brace wrapped around my waist, his expression flickered with sudden panic. "Audrey? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?" He reached out, his hand shaking as he tried to grab my papers. "Garrett? Who is it?" Sophie peeked out from the room behind him, her arm neatly bandaged. The moment she saw me, she shrank back, her eyes wide with manufactured terror. "Audrey... why are you here? Please, I swear Garrett and I didn't do anything... don't be angry with me..." She began to weep, her shoulders shaking delicately. Garrett’s concern vanished instantly. He stepped in front of her, his face hardening into defensive rage as he glared at me. "Audrey, she just survived a suicide attempt! Are you so malicious that you had to follow us here to terrorize her? Get out of here! Don't let me see your face again!" I looked at the crumpled discharge papers in my hand, then up at the man I had loved for five years. My heart felt completely hollow, like an old, empty house. "Don't worry," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "You won't." I turned to walk away. Suddenly, a loud, ragged scream echoed from the elevator lobby. A woman with wild, bloodshot eyes and a kitchen knife in her hand came sprinting down the hallway, her gaze locked onto Sophie. "You! Your parents killed my son in that crash! I'm going to send you to join him!" Sophie shrieked in terror. "Garrett! Save me!" Without a second thought, Garrett grabbed Sophie and pulled her into the room. My parents, hearing the screaming, rushed to the doorway, grabbed both of them, and pulled them inside. Before I could even reach the door, the heavy oak panel slammed shut in my face. A sharp, mechanical click echoed through the wood. They had locked the door from the inside. I stood in the empty corridor, my back frozen, my hand still holding the useless cane. I turned to look at the frantic woman rushing toward me, her knife raised. I tried to run, but my fractured spine gave out. I collapsed onto my knees. A cold, sharp agony plunged into my abdomen. I fell sideways onto the cold linoleum floor, watching the bright red blood pool around my hands, staining the hospital tiles. The screaming in the hallway faded into a dull, rhythmic hum, and the lights above me slowly went dark.