He Signed The Marriage License With Another Woman

1 The day before we were supposed to get our marriage license, my fiancé walked into the registry office holding his official documents, hand in hand with Alyssa. Over the phone, a friend tried to talk sense into him. "What about Phoebe?" "You've been together seven years. You're really going to marry someone else?" Jackson went silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "Phoebe will understand. Alyssa's dad doesn't have much time left. It's just a legal formality, a fake marriage. The moment the old man passes, I'll file for divorce." The friend still sounded hesitant. "But she waited seven years for you." Jackson let out a quiet chuckle. "And because she waited seven years, she's not going to throw me away over a single month." I stood frozen around the corner, my fingers clutching the bag of gourmet chocolates I had bought to share with the registry staff. I didn't storm inside to demand an explanation. I didn't burst into tears or beg him to change his mind. I simply walked up to the window, canceled my appointment, and turned around to leave. What Jackson didn't realize was simple. Marriage can be delayed, and love can take its time. But I refused to spend the rest of my life tied to a man who was so arrogantly certain I would always wait right where he left me. … When I canceled the booking, the clerk glanced at me twice, her eyes filled with sympathy. "Are you sure, sweetie? Spots for today were nearly impossible to get." I gave her a small, firm nod. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Jackson. [Something came up at the firm. We'll have to push the registry back a few days. Don't be mad, okay? I'll explain everything tonight.] I stared at the screen until the light dimmed, then shoved the bag of melting chocolates into my purse and walked out into the chilly air. I still had afternoon classes to teach. I headed back to campus and carried on with my second-grade literature lesson as if my whole world hadn't just shifted on its axis. We were reading a fable about a young foal trying to cross a rushing river. A little boy near the front raised his hand, looking up at me with wide eyes. "Miss Phoebe, did the little horse cross the river all by himself in the end?" I stood there with a piece of chalk in my hand, staring at the blackboard for several seconds before my brain registered the question. "He did." "Wasn't he scared?" the boy asked. I gave him a soft, weary smile. "Even if you're scared, sometimes you just have to cross it anyway." After the bell rang, a few teachers gathered around my desk, teasing me about why I hadn't taken my bride-to-be leave yet. "Wait, weren't you registering today? Where's Jackson?" "Come on, where are the wedding treats? Don't hide them!" I pulled the bag of chocolates out of my purse and handed it over. The heat had melted the cocoa, leaving it sticky inside the foil wrappers. My coworkers assumed I was just flushed with bridal nerves and kept laughing. I forced myself to smile along with them. The laughter felt hollow, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my throat. That evening, Jackson called. "Phoebe, have you eaten yet?" In the background, I could hear the faint paging system of a hospital, accompanied by a woman's low, muffled sobbing. I didn't call him out on it. "Not yet." "I am so sorry about today. Something urgent came up on Alyssa's end. Her dad is in critical condition and he's not very lucid. He keeps crying, terrified no one will take care of her when he's gone." I sat alone in the empty classroom, watching the overhead sports field lights flicker on one by one outside the window. "So you married her?" The line went completely dead. After a agonizingly long silence, Jackson lowered his voice. "You found out?" "Yes." He let out a heavy sigh of relief, as if a weight had been lifted. "Phoebe, listen to me, it's just a formality. Her father funded my college tuition back in the day. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even have a degree. This is the dying man's final wish. I couldn't just walk away." "So you used our life together to repay a debt?" "Don't talk like that," Jackson snapped, his tone growing sharp and defensive. "You know who is in my heart. Alyssa and I have zero future together. As soon as her father passes, I'm filing for a quick divorce. Give me a month at most, and we'll get our license." A month at most. He said it so casually, as if I had simply stepped into the wrong line at a grocery store and just needed to wait my turn at another counter. "Was it really that hard to tell me beforehand?" I asked quietly. "I was afraid you'd overthink things." "You went behind my back and married another woman, and you were worried I'd overthink it?" Jackson rubbed his temples audibly, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Phoebe, my head is spinning right now. Her father is in the ICU, and Alyssa is completely falling apart. I know you feel wronged, but I will make it up to you later, I promise." Later. In the seven years we were together, that was his favorite word. Later, I'll take you on that trip to Europe. Later, I'll give you a proper proposal. Later, I'll turn the balcony into that reading cozy you always wanted. Later. Always later. And now, when my entire future had been derailed by his choices, he still treated it as a minor inconvenience, a simple delay. I hung up the phone without another word. Ten minutes later, my social media feed refreshed. Alyssa had posted a photo. In a dimly lit hospital room, her delicate hand rested gently over the back of Jackson's hand. In her lap lay the corner of a newly issued marriage certificate. The caption read: [Thank you for giving my father peace of mind.] Our mutual friends list had already exploded in the comments. [Wait, congratulations?! Is this official?] [So glad Alyssa finally has someone to protect her.] [Jackson is a real man. Professor Dawson didn't raise you for nothing.] Jackson had even liked the post. He probably convinced himself it was just a comforting gesture toward a dying mentor's daughter. I stared at the image until my eyes burned so badly I couldn't keep them open. That night, I drove to our new condo. We bought the place last year. I had contributed every single cent of the savings I'd scraped together from tutoring in college to working extra shifts after graduation for the down payment. When we were renovating, Jackson was slammed at work, so I spent every evening after school wandering around hardware stores, picking out every tile and light fixture myself. When I unlocked the door, Alyssa was sitting on my couch, wearing my plush house slippers. Her eyes were red and swollen. Seeing me, she stood up abruptly. "Phoebe, please don't misunderstand. My dad was transferred to the hospital nearby tonight, and Jackson was worried I'd be too exhausted running back and forth, so he insisted I rest here for a bit. I swear I won't touch any of your personal things." In her hands, she held my favorite mug. It was part of a matching couple's set I had specifically bought for us to use after getting our license. Jackson walked out of the kitchen holding a spatula, his sleeves rolled up. "What are you doing here?" he asked, startled. I looked at him, my voice dangerously calm. "This is my apartment. Am I not allowed to be here?" Jackson's jaw tightened. "That's not what I meant. Alyssa's had an exhausting day. The hospital cots are tiny and uncomfortable, and it's just not safe or convenient for a young woman to stay there alone." Alyssa rushed to set the mug down, her hands trembling. "I'll leave right now. Phoebe, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. Please don't fight with Jackson over me. He hasn't eaten a single bite all day, and he's been running around arranging everything for my dad." She reached for her coat, taking two shaky steps before her body swayed dramatically. Jackson darted forward, catching her by the waist. "Why are you pushing yourself like this?" Tears spilled over Alyssa's cheeks. "I just don't want to make Phoebe upset." Jackson turned to me, his eyes filled with frustration and pleading. "Phoebe, her dad is literally in the ICU right now. Just let her stay for one night. I'll take her back to the hospital first thing tomorrow." I let out a soft laugh. "Let her?" He missed the dark irony in my voice, assuming I was yielding. "Thank you," he murmured. Those two words cut deeper than any screaming argument ever could. That night, Alyssa moved into the guest bedroom. That room was supposed to be my home office. I had spent weeks picking out the wooden desk near the window, imagining myself grading papers there in the afternoons. Now, the surface was covered with Alyssa's makeup bag, medical records, and her travel mug. She apologized profusely, her voice dripping with innocence. "I was worried my stuff would clutter the living room, so I put it in here for now. I promise I'll clean it all up tomorrow." Jackson emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of soup. "Phoebe, sit down and eat something first. Your stomach gets upset easily when you skip meals. Don't go to sleep on an empty stomach just because you're angry." He spoke so naturally, as if today were just another ordinary couple's spat. I sat down at the dining table, looking at the two place settings he had laid out. Jackson froze, realizing his mistake, and quickly went back into the kitchen to grab a third plate. Alyssa spoke up softly. "I shouldn't intrude. You two eat. I'll just stay in the room." Jackson frowned. "You have low blood sugar. You need to eat. Sit down." She cast a timid glance at me before slowly taking a seat. I didn't touch a single morsel of food during that entire meal. Noticing my empty plate, Jackson picked up a pair of serving chopsticks and placed a piece of garlic shrimp onto my dish. "This is your favorite." Alyssa was quietly sipping her soup when her phone suddenly chimed with a video call. "Jackson... my dad just woke up. He wants to see us on video." Jackson's hands stiffened, the chopsticks hovering in the air. I raised my head to watch them. Alyssa bit her lip, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. "I know I shouldn't keep troubling you, but the doctor said his lucid moments are getting shorter. I'm just so terrified he'll slip away again." Jackson went silent for a moment before wiping his hands on a napkin. "Answer it." The call connected. On the screen, an elderly man lay hooked up to an oxygen tube, his breathing shallow and rattling. "Alyssa... where's my son-in-law?" Alyssa turned the screen toward Jackson. Jackson leaned closer, his voice softening into a gentle, reassuring tone. "Professor Dawson, I'm right here." The old man cracked a weak, trembling smile, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Good... good. Leaving Alyssa with you... I can rest easy." Jackson's throat worked as he swallowed hard. "Focus on getting better, sir." I sat right next to them, feeling like a ghost haunting a life that wasn't mine. Suddenly, Alyssa began frantically feeling her bare hands. "Dad, look... I'm wearing the ring." Her fingers were completely bare. The old man's vision was failing, but he kept staring intently at the screen. "The ring... yes... a marriage needs a proper ring..." Alyssa froze, panicked. Jackson reflexively turned his head toward me. I met his gaze, cold and unblinking. In the drawer of our master bedroom nightstand sat the custom pair of platinum wedding bands we had picked out together months ago. I thought he would have at least a shred of decency left. But without a word, he stood up and walked straight into our bedroom. The sound of the drawer sliding open echoed sharply in the silent apartment. A moment later, he walked back out carrying the small velvet box. He popped it open. He took out my ring and handed it to Alyssa. "Put this on for now." I stared at him, stunned into complete, absolute silence. Alyssa shook her head frantically, though her hands hovered near the box. "No, Jackson, I can't. This belongs to Phoebe." Jackson didn't look at me. His tone was smooth, perfectly reasonable. "Just so Professor Dawson can rest easy." He took her hand and slid the ring onto her left ring finger. The fit was entirely wrong. Alyssa's fingers were slighter than mine, leaving the heavy band hanging loosely on her hand. She smiled through her tears into the camera lens. "Look, Dad. We're really married now." The old man finally let out a satisfied breath and closed his eyes to rest. Jackson exhaled long and slow, relieved. That was the moment I finally stood up. The chair legs scraped violently against the hardwood floor, producing a screeching tear through the room. Jackson whipped his head around. "Phoebe, where are you going?" I walked into the master bedroom, pulled my suitcase out from the closet, and began throwing my clothes inside. Jackson hurried in behind me, slamming the door shut. "Stop acting like this! Professor Dawson doesn't have much time left. I couldn't push him over the edge at a moment like this!" "So you push me over the edge instead?" "You are completely healthy! Do you really have to hold a grudge against a dying man?" I raised my head to look at him. The moment those words left his mouth, the temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero. Jackson seemed to realize how cruel he sounded. He reached out, his voice softening as he tried to pull me into an embrace. "Phoebe, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just so exhausted." I took a sharp step back, dodging his hands. His arms hung frozen in midair. Knocks sounded softly on the door from the hallway. Alyssa's voice leaked through. "Jackson, your mother is calling on the other line. She's asking about the wedding details." Jackson's frown deepened. He answered the call and put it on speaker. His mother's sharp voice filled the bedroom instantly. "Jackson! What on earth is going on between you and Phoebe? The venue coordinator called saying the final balance hasn't been settled yet. Your father already invited all his colleagues from the department! Don't you dare make a fool out of us!" Jackson glanced at me nervously. "Mom, we might need to postpone the wedding." "Why?" Silence. Alyssa stood in the doorway, her face pale as a sheet. Finally, Jackson cleared his throat. "Phoebe hasn't been in a great mood lately, so we put off getting the license for a bit." The sweater I was holding slipped from my hands, hitting the floor. His mother blew up immediately. "Why is Phoebe being so stubborn all of a sudden? You two have been together for seven years, what is she throwing a tantrum for right at the finish line? Jackson, your work is so demanding. She's just a school teacher, her schedule is far more flexible than yours! Can't she be a little more understanding?" I kept my eyes fixed on Jackson. He didn't explain. He didn't offer a single word to say it wasn't my fault. When the call finally ended, Alyssa looked at me with brimming, apologetic eyes. "Phoebe, I am so sorry. Did your future mother-in-law misunderstand you? Let me call her back and explain everything." Jackson grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Don't add to the mess." A bitter, quiet smile tugged at the corner of my lips. So in the end, I was the one adding to the mess. I didn't manage to leave that night. Around midnight, Alyssa developed a spiking fever, and Jackson was beside himself trying to rush her to the emergency room. As he helped her toward the door, he looked back at me. "Phoebe, go to sleep. I'll come back as soon as her IV drip is done." I stood in the center of the quiet living room. "Jackson, today was supposed to be our wedding day." His footsteps paused. "I know." "You know, and yet you're leaving me here alone?" Alyssa weakly tugged at his sleeve, her voice faint. "Maybe I should just take an Uber by myself..." Jackson didn't move, a dark storm of frustration brewing in his eyes. "Can you please stop pressing me at a time like this?" I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "I'm pressing you?" "Alyssa has a 102-degree fever! Phoebe, a human life is at stake here!" In that fleeting second, I thought back on the past few weeks. Every one of Alyssa's tears, every instance of her weakness, seemed infinitely more precious and urgent than anything I felt. The front door clicked shut. I sat alone on the sofa in our unfinished home until the horizon turned gray. When the sun finally began to rise, Jackson returned. He looked shocked to find me still sitting in the exact same spot, his tone softening immediately. "Why didn't you get any rest?" I didn't answer. He walked over and dropped to his knees in front of me, taking my cold hands. "Phoebe, yesterday was my fault. I shouldn't have raised my voice. As soon as Professor Dawson's condition stabilizes, I'll take you on that coastal trip we talked about, okay? Didn't you always want to watch the sunrise over the ocean?" In the past, hearing those words would have melted my heart in an instant. Now, all I felt was a bone-deep, suffocating fatigue. His phone lit up on the coffee table. A text from Alyssa: [Jackson, my dad woke up asking for you again. I am so sorry, I know I shouldn't keep burdening you.] The moment Jackson saw the notification, he reflexively pushed himself up to stand. I lifted my eyes to meet his. "You're going back?" "Professor Dawson needs me right now." "And what about me?" He froze. I asked him, emphasizing every single word, "What am I to you right now?" Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a frustrated breath. "Phoebe, stop digging into dead ends. You're the woman I'm going to marry." "Except Alyssa is your legal wife." His face darkened instantly. "It's just a piece of paper!" "A piece of paper that defines a marriage." "Phoebe!" It was the first time in seven years he had ever yelled at me like that. Regretting it immediately, his voice dropped lower. "I genuinely do not have the energy to fight with you right now. Just give me a little time." "How long?" "A month." "Divorces have a mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period." Jackson blinked, stunned. Clearly, he hadn't given the actual process a single second of thought. Looking at his clueless expression, I realized that arguing was entirely pointless. He hadn't even bothered to look into the consequences, yet he felt entirely comfortable gambling with my life. His phone rang. It was an incoming call from Alyssa. He answered it. Alyssa was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. "Jackson, my dad says he wants to go home... Does he know he's dying? I'm so scared, I'm really so scared..." Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. "I'll be right there." Hanging up, he looked down at me. "Phoebe, wait for me to get back. We'll have a real talk then." I didn't reply. He reached the front door, hesitating before turning around. "I know you're furious, but I also know you won't actually throw us away. We've been together for seven years." My heart gave a violent, painful spasm. Seven years. In the end, he had turned those seven years into his ultimate bargaining chip. After Jackson left, I began packing my things. I didn't own much that wasn't tied to this place. Once my main suitcase was packed, I walked into the guest room to retrieve my teaching books. The door was slightly ajar. Alyssa's handbag sat open on the desk, a folded document slipping out from the side pocket. I hadn't intended to pry. But the words printed across the top of the page were impossible to ignore: Application for Dissolution of Marriage. The filing date was stamped yesterday. Tucked inside was a neat, handwritten sticky note in Alyssa's elegant handwriting: [30-day waiting period. Both parties must appear within 30 days after the period ends. If one party fails to show, the application is deemed withdrawn.] She had known the rules all along. And Jackson was completely in the dark. Or rather, he simply hadn't cared enough to find out. I slipped the document back into her bag. Just as I turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed from the outer hallway. Jackson and Alyssa were back. Alyssa was weeping softly. "Jackson, did I ruin everything between you and Phoebe? She must utterly despise me." Jackson let out a heavy, tired sigh. "No. She's just struggling to accept it right now." "But... what if she really leaves you?" Jackson went silent for a moment before speaking in a low, absolute tone. "She won't." Alyssa sniffled. "How can you be so sure?" "Phoebe will wait for me. She loves me too much to let me go." Standing behind the bedroom door, my tightly clenched fists slowly unfurled. He was right. Once upon a time, I couldn't bear to let him go. I couldn't bear to watch him stay up late working without bringing him dinner; I couldn't bear to see him shoulder massive project failures alone; I couldn't bear the thought of him putting on a brave smile for me after getting chewed out by his boss. I cared about far too many things. And because I cared, he felt entirely safe hurting me, confident that I would always be there when he decided to turn around. In that quiet moment, the final, fragile thread of hope I held for him snapped completely. Suddenly, I felt no urge to scream, no desire to demand answers. I pulled open the desk drawer, took out my platinum engagement ring, and laid it quietly on the dining table. Right next to it sat the half-empty bag of melted chocolates. Before leaving, I took one last look at the apartment. Every piece of furniture had been handpicked by me, yet the space felt utterly foreign, like a place I had never truly known. I pulled open the front door. Both of them turned to look at me simultaneously. Jackson frowned. "Where are you going?" "Back to the school dorms." His eyebrows pulled together in annoyance. "It's late, stop acting out." He reached out, his hand clamping firmly around my wrist. "Phoebe, just wait until we get through Professor Dawson's funeral arrangements. I promise I'll give you a proper answer." I reached down and, finger by finger, pried his grip off my arm. "Don't bother." "Jackson, we're over."