Chapter 3: The Joke’s On Me

No one paid much attention to it.

After all, everyone knew how much I loved Rachel.

I’d stayed by her side for seven years, finally waiting for her to accept my proposal.

Everyone thought I could put up with it, that I should put up with it—since the wedding was near, surely I wouldn’t make a scene at such a crucial moment.

“Oh, Rachel’s always like this—she talks nonsense when she’s drunk.”

“You can’t blame her. Caleb is her 'first love.' How could she let go so easily?”

“Hey, it’s nothing. Who hasn’t said the wrong thing before?”

“Derek, don’t be upset. You know, when Caleb left without saying goodbye, it really hurt Rachel. You have to understand her.”

“Yeah, and you two are about to get married. There’s no need to get upset over something so trivial, right?”

“If you ask me, you’re all overthinking it. She just called the wrong name. Derek loves Rachel so much—how could he possibly be angry at her?”

My classmates chatted on, not caring about my feelings at all.

They clinked their bottles and laughed, already moving on to another round of ribbing and nostalgia, never pausing to notice my clenched jaw or the sting in my eyes. I felt invisible, like a footnote in my own story.

Suddenly, I realized it was all meaningless.

When we first got together, she still missed Caleb Johnson. I thought it was just a temporary heartbreak, so I was willing to accommodate her, to tolerate her.

But...

Seven years later, and she was still like this.

Even my patience had become a joke among my classmates.

If that’s the case, why get married at all?

I looked at Rachel’s drunken face—not scolding her, not angry—I simply poured myself a drink and downed it, then turned and left.

My hand tightened around the glass. I forced a laugh, but my throat burned. The whiskey burned my throat, sharper than any words I could have said. I stood for a second, letting the bite settle, then grabbed my keys and my phone. The music and laughter faded behind me as I stepped into the parking lot, the cool night air hitting my face.

The parking lot was slick with rain, my breath fogging in the cold. I stood there for a second, letting the night swallow up the noise from inside.

“Hey, Derek, where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Home?”

They exchanged glances, then asked again, “But what about Rachel? Aren’t you going to take care of her?”

I smiled faintly. “I’m not her dad. Why should I be responsible for everything she does?”

There was a freedom in saying that—like shrugging off a weight I’d been carrying for years. I slid into my old Honda and turned the key, letting the engine rumble beneath me. For the first time in a long time, I drove away without looking back.