Dahlia's POV
I check my phone for what feels like the countless time recently. Still nothing from Cobb.
The marriage license office closes soon. I've been sitting in this parking lot since morning, watching couples walk in and out with excited smiles and nervous laughter. Some hold hands. Others clutch their paperwork like precious treasure.
I clutch nothing but my purse and my growing disappointment.
My phone finally buzzes. Cobb's name flashes on the screen.
"Hey babe, sorry. Something came up at work. Can we reschedule?"
That's it. No apology for making me wait all day. No explanation for why work suddenly became more important than our wedding preparations.
"Sure," I text back. My fingers feel numb as I type. "Tomorrow?"
"I'll let you know."
I stare at the message until the screen goes dark. Years together, and this is how he treats our marriage license appointment. Like it's some casual lunch date he can blow off.
I drive home in silence. The radio stays off. Even music feels too cheerful right now.
Back at our apartment, I pour myself a glass of wine and scroll through social media mindlessly. Instagram stories flash by – friends at restaurants, coworkers complaining about traffic, random food photos.
Then I see it.
Ivana's story. A sunset beach photo with the caption "Best birthday ever!" She's wearing a flowing white dress, her arms stretched toward the golden sky. The location tag reads "Paradise Island Resort."
My wine glass stops halfway to my lips.
I tap through to the next story. Cobb and Ivana sitting at a beachside restaurant, clinking champagne glasses. Her laugh is frozen mid-giggle, his smile wide and genuine. More genuine than any smile he's given me in months.
The timestamp shows it was posted earlier today.
Earlier today, when he was supposedly at work. When he was too busy to get our marriage license.
I scroll back through her recent posts. Yesterday's story shows them at the airport. Cobb carrying her pink suitcase, his arm around her shoulders. The caption reads "Off on an adventure with my favorite person!"
My hands shake as I set down the wine glass.
Years. Years of watching him drop everything for Ivana. Years of canceled dates because she needed him. Years of being told I was overreacting when I complained about their relationship.
I think about all the times he chose her over me. Her college graduation instead of my work promotion dinner. Her apartment hunting instead of our anniversary. Her fake emergencies instead of my real ones.
I was so stupid to think today would be different.
My phone rings. It's my friend Tilda.
"Hey girl, how did it go? Are you officially almost-married now?"
I can't bring myself to lie. "He canceled. Work emergency."
The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped.
"Dahlia," Tilda's voice is carefully controlled. "What kind of work emergency happens on a Saturday?"
"The kind that involves Paradise Island Resort, apparently."
Another pause. Then Tilda's voice turns sharp. "What are you talking about?"
I tell her about the Instagram posts. About Cobb's lie. About sitting in that parking lot like an idiot while he was toasting champagne with his precious adopted sister.
"You know what, Tilda? You're right. I'm done. Is your cousin Marcus still single? The doctor?"
"Yes, and he actually shows up when he says he will."
"Then set us up. I deserve better than this, and I know it."
After she hangs up, I sit in the growing darkness of our living room. I don't turn on the lights. The shadows feel appropriate.
Cobb doesn't come home that night, or the next. It wasn't until Tuesday evening that I heard his key in the lock. He walks in like nothing happened, dropping his travel bag by the door.
"Hey babe. How was your weekend?"
I look up from my laptop. "How was Paradise Island?"
His face doesn't even flicker. "What are you talking about? I was at the office all weekend. That merger is killing me."
The lie comes so easily to him. So naturally.
"Really? Because Ivana's Instagram says otherwise."
Now his expression changes. Annoyance flashes across his features. "You're checking up on me through social media now?"
"I'm checking up on my fiancé who abandoned our marriage license appointment to go on vacation with another woman."
Cobb runs his hand through his hair. "It wasn't a vacation. It was Ivana's birthday. She's been going through a rough time, and she needed—"
"She needed what? Her adopted brother to drop everything and fly to a resort with her?"
"It's not like that, Dahlia. You're making it sound weird."
"I'm making it sound exactly like what it is."
He crosses the room and sits beside me on the couch. His voice softens, taking on that patronizing tone I've learned to hate.
"Look, I know you're upset. But Ivana doesn't have anyone else. Her parents died when she was young. I'm all the family she has."
"What about me? What about us?"
"That's different. You're strong. You can handle things on your own. Ivana is fragile."
Fragile. That's Cobb's favorite word for her. Fragile Ivana who somehow manages to travel the world and maintain an active social life despite being so delicate.
I close my laptop. "We're getting the marriage license tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's not good. I have meetings all day."
"Then when?"
Cobb shrugs. "Soon. Don't worry about it so much."
Don't worry about it. Like our entire future is just some minor detail he'll get around to eventually.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Cobb frowns and checks his watch.
"Were you expecting someone?"
I shake my head. Cobb opens the door, and Ivana practically floats inside. She's wearing a soft pink sweater and carrying a small shopping bag, her long blonde hair perfectly curled.
"Cobb! I forgot to give these back." She holds up the bag with a sweet smile. "Your swim trunks and that book you lent me."
Her eyes find mine over Cobb's shoulder. "Oh, hi Dahlia! I didn't know you'd be here."
I live here. But I don't say that.
"Thanks, Rose." Cobb takes the bag. "You didn't have to come all the way over."
"I was in the neighborhood anyway." She steps closer, adjusting something at her wrist. "Besides, I wanted to thank you again for the most amazing birthday weekend."
That's when I see it.
The bracelet on her wrist. Silver with tiny star charms. Identical to the one Cobb gave me for Christmas. The one he said was custom-made, unique, special just for me.
Ivana notices me staring and touches the bracelet self-consciously.
"Isn't it beautiful? Cobb has such good taste in jewelry."