Dead Before You Said I Do

Ten years ago, our high school caught fire. To pull my four closest friends from the suffocating smoke and collapsing beams, I stayed behind too long. Oxygen deprivation and trauma stole pieces of my mind, reducing me to someone the world called slow. A half-child. A girl whose brain never quite caught up with her body again. Back then, they wept beside my hospital bed, clasping my blistered fingers, swearing they would spend the rest of their lives making it up to me. Terrified I would be bullied, they tore up their acceptance letters to elite universities, enrolling instead at the modest local community college just to walk beside me from class to class. Terrified someone might take advantage of my innocence, the other three coaxed Asher into confessing his feelings and asking me out. And when I stood under our leaking ceiling, staring wistfully at glossy magazine spreads of sturdy, dry estates, they scraped together every cent they earned, working themselves to the bone to purchase a beautiful suburban house—our wedding house. Until the night of our rehearsal dinner. I slipped away to use the restroom, and on my way back down the quiet hall, I heard laughter spilling through the crack of the private suite door. They were playing Truth or Dare. The prompt on the table was: "Secrets Willa Doesn't Know." Curiosity tugged at my heart. I pressed my ear gently against the polished wood. Inside, Drew’s drunken, slurred chuckle broke the quiet first. "That little simpleton has no clue the ceremony tomorrow was arranged for Candice." I froze. The breath locked hard in my throat. A heavy pause settled over the room before my sister, Megan, took over, her tone matter-of-fact. "Willa doesn't know that when Asher confessed his love to her years ago, he was just trying to spite Candice after a petty spat. Who would’ve thought Willa would actually take it seriously and say yes?" Megan gave a low, exhausted sigh. "Tomorrow's vows belonged to Candice from the start." Candice’s voice came next, thick with unshed tears. "If my family hadn’t been suffocating me with those arranged matches, I never would’ve stolen Willa’s wedding," she murmured, sounding noble in her martyrdom. "I only need the ceremony to appease my parents. Willa can have the legal marriage certificate. As long as she’s happy... my own happiness can wait for the next lifetime." The room grew so still I could hear the hum of the air conditioner. Finally, Asher spoke, his voice carrying the dead weight of resignation. "This morning... when the rage and suffocation hit me, I actually considered putting Willa out of her misery. But I stopped myself." He let out a dry, ragged breath. "We owe her our lives. This lifetime is just penance. We’re paying off a debt." I stood there for an eternity before my legs carried me numbly back to our shared room. My fingers trembled as I unzipped Asher’s leather duffel bag. Tucked in the side pocket was a small, uncapped bottle of prescription sedatives. My heart seemed to collapse in on itself. All the tender devotion of the past ten years—the hand-holding, the bedtime stories, the fierce defense against schoolyard bullies—had never been love. It had been an endless, grueling repayment. Tears blurred my vision as I shook the pills onto my palm. One by one, dry and bitter, I pushed them past my lips. "You don’t have to wait for the next lifetime, Candice." "In this one, I’ll set you all free." … The last pill scratched down my raw throat. Within minutes, my stomach began to burn, as if the embers from ten years ago had reignited inside my belly. I tossed the empty plastic container under the bed and curled into a tight ball on my mattress, shivering violently. Beside my pillow, the tablet screen flickered. I pulled it closer. A notification flashed across the top. The group name was: "Four Without the Idiot." Drew had tagged everyone: "Whose turn is it tonight to spike the simpleton's warm milk with sleeping pills?" My sister, Megan, replied almost instantly: "It’s Candice’s turn. Make sure to double the dose this time." "Tomorrow is their big day. We cannot have Willa wandering into that chapel under any circumstances." I stared at the screen, my mind sluggish, my thumb mechanically swiping upward through the message history. Ten years. More than three thousand nights. Every single evening, the sweet, warm mug of milk placed gently on my nightstand had been laced with crushed sedatives. And while I lay dead to the world, the man who called me his fiancé and the girl I thought was my truest friend were tangled together in the master bedroom next door, night after night after night. A short video clip popped up, sent by Candice. "Don’t worry. Asher already prepped it for me." In the clip, slender, familiar fingers tipped a powdery white swirl into a steaming glass of milk. On the inside of his right wrist was a tiny tattoo—a stylized green pear. Years ago, my left arm had been badly burned by falling ceiling timber, leaving behind ugly, puckered pink scars that other kids mocked. Asher had tracked down the boy who made fun of me, beaten him bloody, and then taken me to a tattoo parlor. He designed the ink himself. A delicate branch of leaves to cover the burn on my forearm, and the little pear on his own wrist. "Look," he had told me, his thumb tracing the swollen skin, his smile radiant. "A pear. A pair. It means we never part." I had laughed back then, clapping my hands like a delighted child. Yet the boy who swore we would never be torn apart had cast me out of their world a long time ago. A fat tear splattered onto the screen, distorting the image. I scrambled clumsily to wipe it away with my sleeve, but two loud raps struck the bedroom door. "Willa? Are you in there?" Panic surged through me. I shoved the tablet deep under the duvet just as the brass handle turned. The door swung wide. The moment Asher caught sight of me sitting on the edge of the bed, his long strides closed the distance. He grabbed my arm, yanking me upright to inspect me from head to toe. Seeing that I was in one piece, the tension in his brow eased, though his tone was sharp with irritation. "Willa, do you have any idea how long we’ve been looking for you? We thought you’d wandered off and gotten yourself hurt." Habit made me part my lips to stammer an apology. Instead, tears cascaded down my cheeks. Megan stepped into the room behind him, pulling a handkerchief to dab at my face while scolding him softly. "All right, Asher, stop it. Why snap at her out of nowhere? As long as she’s fine, that’s all that matters." Drew leaned against the doorframe, offering a smirk and tossing a small pack of tissues onto the nightstand, bantering just as he always did. "Our little lucky charm. Lost her mind, but still gets the whole world running around after her." Candice followed, offering a gentle, soothing smile as she held out a warm mug toward me. "Willa, honey, don’t cry. Everyone was just sick with worry," she cooed. "Your stomach was bothering you earlier, so I drove out to find lactose-free milk specifically for you." The mug hovered inches from my chest. Along the rim, a faint dusting of undissolved white powder clung to the ceramic. They all stood there, watching me with practiced warmth, waiting for me to drink it down so they could take turns reading me bedtime stories, just like every other night. Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I reached out with trembling hands to take the mug. Before my grip could settle, Candice’s manicured fingernail dug fiercely into the soft flesh of my wrist. The sharp sting caught me off guard. On instinct, my hands jerked back, shoving her away. The ceramic shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening crash, and Candice went down with it, crying out as she hit the ground. I froze, paralyzed. Before I could process what happened, a hard hand caught my shoulder and shoved me. I stumbled backward, my knees giving out as I struck the floor beside the splintered shards. Scrambling to sit up, I heard Candice’s breath hitch in a theatrical sob. "Willa... are you mad at me just because I bought a different brand of milk? Is that why you pushed me?" She wiped her eyes, her shoulders quivering. "I’m sorry. I’ll go right now and buy the regular one you like." She braced her hands on the floor, pretending to struggle to her feet. Drew blocked her path immediately, wheeling around to roar at me, his veins bulging on his neck. "What the hell is wrong with you, Willa? If you don’t want to drink it, don’t! What gives you the right to throw a tantrum and hurt Candice?" His fury left me gasping. I opened my mouth to plead, to explain that she had pinched me, but Megan cut me off with icy disdain. "Willa, do you honestly believe that because of the fire, every single one of us owes you our entire lives? Do you think the world has to bow to your every whim?" Asher didn't yell. He merely looked down at me with profound, weary disappointment. Then, without a word, he bent down and gently scooped a limping Candice into his arms. "The three of us are taking her to urgent care," he said coldly over his shoulder. "Stay in this room and think about what you did." The four of them turned their backs and walked out. Terror seized me. I scrambled up from the floor and bolted after them down the hallway. "No... please, that’s not what happened! Listen to me—" They walked too fast. My bare feet tangled in the hallway rug, and I crashed hard onto the floorboards. By the time I dragged myself back up, the front door had slammed shut, and the roar of Asher’s engine peeled out of the driveway into the night. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a video sent from Megan. On the screen, Candice’s bare leg was resting gently across Asher’s lap in the front seat. The wet mud on her shoe rubbed against his crisp white dress shirt, leaving dirty streaks, but he didn't care at all. In the back, Drew and Megan were leaning forward, anxiously blowing cool air over the scrape on her knee. A haze drifted over my mind. I remembered years ago, when I scraped my knuckle on an aluminum can. Back then, the three of them had crowded around me just like that. One held the antiseptic spray, another blew gently on the sting, and Drew made funny faces just to coax a giggle out of me. How long ago had that been? Over time, every cut or bruise I suffered was met with tightening jaws and heavy sighs. Eventually, I learned to hide my wounds. I kept them tucked beneath long sleeves, picking at the dried scabs alone in the dark, too terrified to let out a whimper. A voice text from Megan played out of the speaker: "Do you see now, Willa? People only notice when the person they actually love gets hurt. Nobody cares about dead weight." My breath hitched. Only then did I look down at my hands. A shard of broken ceramic had sliced open my palm; bright red blood had dripped steadily across the hardwood floor behind me. On the back of my wrist, the crescent moon indentation from Candice’s fingernail remained dark and bruised. Not one of them had noticed. Tears fell like rain onto my ruined palms. I really was the dead weight. A ten-year burden chained to their necks. This time, I would give them their freedom. I crept back into my room and dragged an old canvas suitcase from the closet. The poison was settling into my system now; cold, slick sweat coated my skin, and sharp cramps tore through my gut. I didn't have much time. I hurried to pack away my traces. The sundress Asher bought for my birthday. The vintage plush doll Megan brought back from her trip. The half-eaten bag of potato chips Drew tossed to me two days ago. I packed them all into the suitcase. The phone rang. The screen lit up with Asher’s name. I snatched it up, pressing the receiver to my ear with shaking hands. His voice came through flat, heavy with exhaustion. "Candice’s scrape got infected. They might need to do a minor procedure." A brief pause. "Tomorrow's wedding is postponed. The three of us are staying at the hospital with her. Just stay home and behave yourself." My throat locked. All I could manage was a meek, quiet whisper. "Okay." The moment the call disconnected, the tablet pinged. In their private chat, Drew had typed a long string of laughing emojis: "Man, Asher is an incredible liar. A tiny scratch and he makes it sound like an amputation." "The lengths this guy will go to just to walk down the aisle with Candice." Megan replied with an amused shrug emoji: "Well, thank God it’s Willa. Anyone with half a brain would’ve smelled a rat by now." "Good thing we’re getting a hotel room tonight anyway. Saves us the headache of dealing with her questions." My chest felt crushed under a slab of concrete. Even with my broken mind, I knew a scrape on the knee didn't require surgery. Months ago, when I nicked my thumb with a paring knife and sobbed while trying to scribble out my "will," Asher had chuckled, banding my cut with a strip of gauze. "Willa, people don't die just from a little blood," he had teased gently. "A tiny scratch like this heals in a couple of days with a bandage." My face had flushed crimson under his gentle mockery. But I had tucked his words away like sacred scripture. For ten years, I had truly been a simpleton. The only time I ever faked being foolish was tonight—to hand Asher the happiness he had starved for. As I zipped the suitcase halfway, my eyes caught the velvet box sitting on the coffee table. Asher had told me that exchanging rings was the soul of a marriage ceremony. Without it, vows were meaningless. Remembering this, I dialed Asher's number again. It rang three times before connecting. Before I could speak, a ragged, breathless sob broke through the line—Candice’s voice. "Asher... we’re so wrong for doing this to Willa. I can’t keep this baby." Her voice caught between gasps and tears. "Once the ceremony is over, I’ll terminate the pregnancy and disappear from your life completely." My skull went dead white. Then Asher’s voice cut through, raw and frantic, choked with years of suffocated passion. "Ten years of our lives is enough compensation for anyone! I am sick to death of it, Candice!" His breathing was heavy, ragged. "I lost you once. I am not losing our child." Through the receiver came the rustle of sheets, muffled weeping, and desperate, clinging breaths. Memory dragged me back to an afternoon last autumn. I had pointed at a young couple pushing a stroller in the park, turning to Asher with wide, longing eyes. "Asher, look at them. They look so happy. When can we have a baby?" A dark shadow had crossed his face. He patted my head lightly, looking away. "I don’t like kids, Willa. Just you is enough." He didn't hate children. He just couldn't stomach the thought of having one with a girl whose mind was broken. Clutching the velvet box against my chest, my eyes stung with bitter salt. It was okay. "Asher, you’ll get everything you want very soon." By the time I finished packing away my existence, the dawn was bleeding gray through the blinds. The agony inside my organs had turned into a steady, tearing fire. Clinging to the doorframes for support, I slipped the ring box into my coat pocket and hailed a cab to the chapel downtown. "Pop." Confetti erupted into the air just as I pushed open the double doors of the sanctuary. The jubilant chatter in the hall snapped into dead silence. My eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles. I brushed the glittering foil from my trembling shoulders and walked steadily toward the altar where the two of them stood. Panic flashed across Asher’s face. His immediate reflex was to step sideways, shielding Candice behind his broad back. "Willa... listen to me, Candice was just helping me walk through the rehearsal—" Drew cut him off, stepping forward with an impatient sigh. "Asher, there’s no point in lying to her anymore." Drew caught my arm, his tone laced with a faint, defensive guilt. "Willa, the truth is, today’s ceremony was planned for Candice from the beginning. Coming here won't change anything. Look around you. Her name is on everything." He gestured around the chapel. The floral arrangements, the welcome easel, the printed programs stacked neatly on the guest tables. Bold, elegant calligraphy read: "Celebrating the Union of Asher Dalton and Candice Fairchild." So that was why Asher had gently refused when I asked to write our names on the invitations. I thought he was embarrassed by my childlike, uneven scrawl. In reality, he was simply keeping the altar warm for Candice. My mouth tasted like copper. I nodded faintly, my voice paper-thin. "I know." "You know, and you still showed up?!" Megan’s voice shot up an octave. She lunged forward, her fingers digging cruelly into my wrist. "Willa, Asher and Candice have suffocated their own lives for ten years because of you!" she hissed, her eyes wild with anger. "Her parents are cornering her into a nightmare marriage, and this ceremony is her only way out! I am begging you, for once in your pathetic life, stop ruining everything!" She yanked my arm, trying to drag me down the aisle toward the exit. Desperate, I fished the velvet box from my pocket and thrust it into view. "I’m not here to ruin anything! I came to bring this!" Megan froze at the sight of the box. Taking advantage of her shock, I wrenched my arm free, ran up the carpeted steps, and shoved the box into Asher’s hand. Asher looked down at it, stunned, his expression cracking with conflict. "Willa, you..." Before he could finish, Candice let out a sharp gasp. She snatched the box from his hands and flipped open the lid. Inside, the delicate platinum women's band had snapped cleanly in two. My jaw dropped. Tears flooded Candice’s eyes in an instant, her voice cracking into high-pitched hysteria. "Willa... you knew all along that Asher was going to give me this ceremony, didn't you? So you deliberately broke my ring to spit in my face!" She shook with weeping. "Fine! Take the wedding back! I’ll marry whoever my parents pick, and I’ll disappear from your lives forever!" Candice ripped the lace veil from her hair and hurled it, along with the broken ring, straight into my face. The jagged metal edge sliced across my cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. I stood frozen, staring at her in bewilderment. Seeing Candice spin around and bolt toward the side door, Asher panicked. "Candice, wait!" I instinctively reached out to grab his sleeve. "Asher, no... I never even opened the box—" "Slap!" A vicious strike snapped my head to the side. Megan stood over me, her chest heaving, tears of fury in her eyes. "Willa, you are monstrous! We protected you for a decade, and you’re so utterly selfish you can’t even grant them this one day of peace?" My ears rang violently. Through the blur, I heard Drew’s angry growl. "Don’t cry, Candice! I’ll get you a ring right now!" Drew lunged forward, grabbed my left hand, and violently tore the gold band from my ring finger. The friction ripped the skin around my knuckle, pulling away a ring of raw flesh. Ignoring the blinding pain in my hand, I lunged forward, desperate, clawing at his sleeves. "No! Give it back! Please! That’s my mother’s ring! It’s all I have left of her!" Drew shoved me back with cold disgust, turning to slide the vintage gold band onto Candice’s finger. Megan snarled at me from the steps. "Shut up, Willa! Candice’s ring cost ten times what that old junk was worth! You came out ahead!" "It’s not the same!" The last thread holding my sanity together snapped. A wail tore from my chest. I threw myself forward again, clawing to reach the ring, but Asher stepped firmly between me and Candice. He caught my shoulders and shoved me hard into the small bridal prep room off the sanctuary. "It is the same, Willa! You were wrong to break her ring," he said, his jaw tight with righteous anger. "Candice is borrowing this for the day. Once the reception is over, I’ll let you out." The force of his shove sent me sprawling across the floor. As my ribs slammed against the low table, a wave of dark crimson rushed up my throat. I vomited a puddle of dark blood across the carpet. Silence fell over the room like an axe. Asher’s body stiffened violently. His voice shook so hard the words barely formed. "Willa... what... why are you coughing up blood?" He took an instinctive step toward me, but Candice’s hand shot out, clutching his arm in an iron grip. Her voice was thick with theatrical sorrow. "Willa, can you please stop the act? I saw the ketchup packets in your purse when you arrived." Candice buried her face against Asher’s shoulder, weeping softly. "Even if you despise me for this wedding, you can’t use cheap tricks like this to terrorize us. Fine... I’ll give the ring back!" "Liar," I wanted to scream. "I have no ketchup. I never broke your ring. You planned all of this!" But the poison had devoured everything inside me. I didn't even have the breath left to form a syllable. Candice reached for her finger, pretending to pull off the gold band. Asher caught her wrist, stopping her. When he looked back down at me, a bitter, contemptuous laugh escaped his lips. "I underestimated you, Willa." His gaze turned freezing cold. "You might be slow, but you’ve learned how to play the room." "Stay in here. Think about what you’ve become." "Slam." The heavy oak door shut, and the lock clicked into place. My strength failed. I collapsed sideways onto the ruined carpet. In my pocket, my phone began to chime softly. With the last ounce of life in my fingers, I pressed the green button. Candice’s voice drifted through the speaker, low, smooth, and dripping with venom. "Since you’re about to die anyway, I might as well tell you the truth. Asher never planned on killing you. I put that bottle of pills in his bag myself." A soft, mocking chuckle. "And my parents never arranged a marriage for me. I just needed a dramatic stage to make you understand who Asher really loves." "You really are an idiot, aren't you? Falling into the trap without a fight." Her voice softened into a sickening purr. "Don’t worry, Willa. After you’re gone, I will take very, very good care of Asher for you." My chest hitched, the shallow breaths rattling like dry leaves. Distantly, through the thick walls, the pastor’s booming voice carried across the sanctuary. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. I pictured Asher taking Candice by the hand, walking the length of the aisle, exchanging vows beneath the arch of white flowers, swearing to cherish each other until death. It was exactly the wedding I had dreamed of for ten long years. Outside, the guests erupted into roaring applause. Confetti cannons boomed, one after another, shaking the floor beneath my cheek. With every thunderous cheer, my heart beat a little slower. A little fainter. It didn't matter anymore. At least... Asher was happy now. ... Out in the reception hall, the ceremony had concluded. The four of them were seated at the head table, accepting champagne toasts. Yet for some reason, an icy dread clawed at Asher’s ribs, tightening with every passing second. The image of Willa crumpled on the floor, the dark red pooling beside her lips, would not leave his mind. Setting his champagne glass down, Asher stood up, intending to check on the prep room. He hadn't taken three steps when his phone buzzed. He answered, and his private investigator’s hesitant voice came through: "Mr. Dalton, I looked into the Fairchild family." "Ms. Fairchild was never pressured into an arranged marriage. Her family hasn't arranged a single meeting for her." Asher frowned instinctively. "That's impossible—" Before he could finish, a catering server lunged out of the hallway, grabbing Asher’s arm with trembling hands. Asher’s phone tumbled to the floor. Irritation flashed across his face, but before he could snap, the server cried out in terror: "Mr. Dalton! Come quick! The girl locked in the bridal suite... she isn't breathing!"