“I still don’t get why we have to go all out with the ring,” I said as I parked the car outside the high-end jewelry store.
“There’s an important dinner,” my grandfather had said earlier that morning, “with influential people who care about appearances. You need a proper ring on her hand.” Appearances. That’s all this marriage had been about so far. So here I was, doing what any fake fiancé would do: shopping for an engagement ring… without ever proposing.
Catherine hadn’t said much during the ride. She stared out the window the whole way, eyes fogged like glass during a storm. When we pulled up in front of the shop, she hesitated. Her fingers curled around the door handle, but she didn’t move.
“You okay?” I asked. She looked at me like I’d asked her to walk into her own funeral.
“I don’t feel well. Can you just pick something simple for me? I’ll wait in the car.”
I frowned. “Don’t you want to choose your own ring?”
She shook her head quickly. “No. Please.”
I hesitated, then gave in. “Okay. I’ll be back.” As I walked into the store, a knot formed in my chest. Something about the look in her eyes… it wasn’t just exhaustion. It was heartbreak. I wasn’t even sure where it came from. Maybe it wasn’t me or maybe it was Eden.
But I was starting to hate that name.
I picked a ring in ten minutes. Platinum band with elegant cut. No diamonds too flashy, no design too ornate. Something she’d wear quietly, something that wouldn’t shout I was forced into this.
When I stepped out of the store, she wasn’t in the car. “Catherine?” I looked around, then spotted her near the sidewalk, looking like she was about to bolt. I walked toward her.
“Hey… why are you out here? I got the ring.”
She looked pale. Shaken. “Jacob, I don’t feel that good. Do you mind if I skip the dinner tonight?”
I searched her face and nodded. “Sure. I’ll talk to Grandpa. Do you need to go to the hospital?” She shook her head. I led her back to the car. Silent. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the seat.
I handed her the box. She opened it slowly, and I watched her eyes.
No light, no joy, just numbness.
“Do you like it?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. But she didn’t look at me. That told me everything. The drive home was silent. She didn’t speak, and I didn’t press her. I hated this. I hated seeing her fold into herself like that. I hated not knowing what was going on inside her head.
When we got home, I helped her to her room. She looked like a broken doll. Fragile in a way she never allowed herself to be before. I pressed my hand to her forehead. “No fever. Just a headache?” She nodded weakly.
“I’ll get medicine.” I returned with two pills and a bottle of water.
She took them. “Thanks.”
Then she disappeared into her room, closing the door and didn’t come out.
***
Hours passed. I stayed in my own room, pretending to work, but the screen blurred in front of my eyes. I didn’t know why I cared so much. Except I did. This wasn’t just about grandfathers and legacies and reputations anymore.
She was hurting, and I couldn’t reach her.
Around 8 p.m., I walked by her door. It was closed and dark. I didn’t knock, and I didn’t want to intrude, but I stood there for a moment, listening.
Nothing.
I returned to my room, opened a folder, and stared at the wedding plans. The ring. The date. The guest list. It all felt so artificial. Like a movie set built for a love story that didn’t exist. I reached for my phone and opened the camera roll. There she was, in the dress she chose.
Radiant, but even then, I noticed it—behind the smile, behind the pose—there was hesitation.
And today, that hesitation had turned into despair.
Later that night, I walked past her door again. Still closed. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, unsure of what I was doing. Maybe I’d messed this up. Maybe the ring, the way I’d handled it, everything—had been the last straw.
I thought about knocking. I thought about opening up, but I didn’t.
Instead, I whispered to the silence behind the door.
“I’m sorry.” Then I walked away and prayed she wouldn’t run away from me.