I Put My Wedding Shoes Up For Resale

1 I listed my custom leather wedding shoes online at a steep discount. The buyer asked why, since the soles still had their protective film. I stared at the glossy black calfskin and let out a dry laugh. "Because someone else wore them for an Instagram post." Yesterday, the shoemaker called saying my wedding shoes were ready. Running a fever, I rushed over, only to hear familiar laughter from the fitting area. Amelia was kneeling, tying the laces for Seth. Stamped in gold foil on the inner soles were my name and our wedding date, shoes I'd worked three months of overtime to afford. Seth stood there in my shoes, eyes red. "Nathan, please don't blame Amelia. I begged her." Amelia stepped in front of him. "Seth just went through a breakup. He's emotionally fragile. They're just shoes, Nathan. Don't make things difficult." My phone buzzed. A mutual friend had commented on Seth's post: Whoa, thought you two were getting married! Those shop shoes are one of a kind. Seth hadn't corrected them, just replied with a blushing emoji. Staring at that, I suddenly didn't want the shoes anymore. Or the wedding. In front of the shop assistant, I swiped my card to settle the balance and listed the shoes online. I was done playing my part in a one-man show called a wedding. … The lights in the boutique were blindingly bright. Standing near the entrance of the fitting zone, my forehead was burning, yet I recognized those shoes instantly. The curvature of the shoe last was something I had modified three times. The material was black Italian calfskin I personally selected. Even the small line of gold lettering inside the sole was something I double-checked myself. Nathan & Amelia. June 16th. Now, they were wrapped around Seth's feet. Amelia was half-kneeling in front of him, holding the laces, her voice soft and soothing. "Don't bend over so much, your back isn't fully healed yet." Her tone was so tender. So tender that it reminded me of the text I sent her this morning, telling her I had a fever and asking if she could pick me up. She had replied: Busy today, let us talk later. It turned out her "later" meant accompanying another man to try on my wedding shoes. The clerk spotted me first, her face turning pale. "Mr. Nathan..." Amelia finally turned around. She was still holding my shoehorn, a flicker of panic darting across her eyes. "Nathan? Why are you here early?" I leaned against the doorframe, my throat dry and aching. "Am I not allowed to be here?" Seth immediately tried to bend down and tear the shoes off, his eyes turning watery. "Nathan, please don't misunderstand. It's all my fault." "I saw how gorgeous these shoes were and just wanted to try them on. Amelia said no at first, but I insisted..." Amelia frowned and cut him off. "Don't rush, sit still." She turned back to me, lowering her voice. "Seth has been in a terrible place mentally these past few days. Don't embarrass him in front of everyone." I looked at her. I hadn't said a single word yet. And yet, she had already framed me as the aggressor. I walked over and ran my finger lightly across the leather. A subtle crease had formed near the toe cap. There was a faint scent of woody cologne on them, a scent that didn't belong to me. The clerk tried to break the awkward silence. "Mr. Nathan, Miss Amelia came with you before, so we assumed she could confirm the fit on your behalf." "Plus, she mentioned you had a fever and couldn't make it, but wanted to check the final effect first, so we..." I looked up. "She said that?" Amelia avoided my gaze. "I just thought Seth's shoe size was close to yours, so seeing them on him would give us a good reference." A reference. My wedding shoes, my wedding, and I hadn't even tried them on yet, but another man was already serving as my reference. Seth whispered, "Nathan, I'm truly sorry. Let me take them off right now." He reached down, but suddenly grabbed the back of the chair, his face going pale. Ever since that company gala accident three years ago, Amelia had carried a deep sense of guilt toward him. Amelia instantly reached out to support him. "Take it easy." Her movement was so natural, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times. My phone buzzed again. I looked down to see a screenshot sent by a mutual friend. Seth had just posted on Instagram. In the photo, only the lower half of his trousers and the wedding shoes were visible, alongside a woman's hand resting near the laces. The caption read: Turns out when you put on wedding shoes, you really don't want to wake up. Comments were already rolling in: Seth, you and Amelia? I thought you were the groom! You guys look so perfect together. Seth replied: Don't guess around, guys. Someone will get upset. I held the phone in front of Amelia. Her face darkened, but her first instinct was not to apologize. "Nathan, who sent you this screenshot? People are just joking around." "Do you find it funny?" She choked on her words. Tears streamed down Seth's face. "I will delete it right now. I really didn't mean anything by it." "I was just so envious that you have a wedding coming up, that you have Amelia, and that you have a home." He cried so softly, so helplessly. Amelia's brow furrowed tightly. "Nathan, he already apologized!" I suddenly laughed. "He wears my wedding shoes, posts online to let everyone misunderstand, and somehow I am the one being unreasonable?" Amelia parted her lips. "That is not what I meant." Yet the look in her eyes said otherwise. She thought I ought to be sensible, that I should just swallow this bitter pill. The clerk asked tentatively, "Mr. Nathan, should we still do the final fitting for you today?" I said, "No need." Amelia breathed a sigh of relief, assuming I was finally letting it go. "Let us head home first. You look awful." I pulled out my credit card. "I will settle the balance. I am taking the shoes." She froze. "Are you out of your mind? We have our wedding photoshoot scheduled for the day after tomorrow." I offered no response. When the card reader chimed to confirm payment, a strange hollowness filled my chest. It wasn't reluctance. It was the complete erasure of my very last shred of hope. That evening after returning home, I placed the shoes on the bed and snapped a photo. The listing title on Poshmark was brief: Brand-new custom wedding shoes, tried on once, selling cheap. A buyer messaged me almost instantly. They look stunning, why are you selling them? I stared at the chat box for a long time before replying: They don't fit me. Right after, I canceled the booking for the wedding photos and the styling appointments. Amelia pushed open the door and walked in. She was carrying fever medication and a cup of warm milk tea. "Still mad?" She set the items on the coffee table, sat beside me, and reached out to touch my forehead. I leaned away. Her hand froze in midair. "Nathan, Seth already deleted the post." "He just went through a breakup, and his back injury flared up from that old accident. I just wanted to cheer him up a bit." I looked up at her. "Did you know I had a fever today?" Amelia stunned. She probably finally remembered the message I sent her in the morning. Amelia wasn't like this in the beginning. When we first started dating, she remembered that I hated onions, she picked me up from work, and whenever my stomach issues flared up, she made sure I had warm water. Later, after Seth's accident, her memory seemed to be reallocated, gradually squeezing out every detail that belonged to me. She stayed silent for a few seconds before lowering her voice. "Haven't I brought you medicine now?" I looked at the milk tea. "I don't drink milk tea when I have a fever." Her face went pale. She used to know that. Now, her memory was occupied entirely by Seth, whether his back could handle standing, whether he was exposed to cold winds, or whether he was getting overly emotional. Her phone lit up. Seth sent a voice message. She instinctively tapped it open. "Amelia, my back hurts a little. Did I stand too long earlier? Please don't tell Nathan, he seemed really upset." Amelia panicked and cut off the audio. Silence fell over the room. I looked down at my screen and lowered the price of the shoes by another three hundred dollars. Amelia finally noticed the app on my screen. "You are selling the wedding shoes?" "Yes." "Nathan, stop throwing a tantrum." I met her eyes. "Amelia, I am not throwing a tantrum." "These shoes are dirty." The next morning, my fever subsided a little. I heard Amelia talking on the phone in the living room. "He is fine, just making a mountain out of a molehill." "The wedding is still on. Don't tell my mom, I don't want her worrying." I couldn't hear what the person on the other end said, but her voice softened. "Seth, don't cry. You didn't do it on purpose yesterday. Nathan is usually very easygoing." Standing by the bedroom door, I felt an urge to laugh. Easygoing. So that was my greatest virtue all these years. I didn't step outside. Instead, I turned around, opened the closet, and began pulling out every wedding-related document one by one. The venue contract, vendor quotes, photographer deposit receipts, gift sample invoices, and the guest list. Every single paper bore my handwriting. Amelia used to say, "You make the calls on these things, I trust you." Back then, I thought that was trust. Only now did I realize it was simply convenience. At the dining table, she pushed a bowl of porridge toward me. "Eat a bit. I need to take Seth for his follow-up checkup this morning. I will come back this afternoon to look over the invitations with you." The porridge was sprinkled with chopped scallions. I couldn't stand the smell of scallions when recovering from a fever. She used to know. I didn't pick up the spoon. "Isn't today the day we confirm the complete wedding timeline?" Amelia checked her phone. "The timeline can be confirmed anytime, but his medical checkup cannot be delayed." Cannot be delayed, yet again. Our wedding could be delayed. My wedding shoes could be worn by someone else. My fever could wait until later. Only Seth's matters were always placed at the very front of the line. I asked her, "Amelia, how many times have you actually participated in planning our wedding?" She frowned. "Do you really have to bring up old scores right now?" "Are these old scores?" She set her phone face down on the table, her tone carrying a hint of exhaustion. "Nathan, Seth's back injury happened because of me." "Three years ago, when the backdrop collapsed at the annual gala, he pushed me out of the way and ruined his back." "Is there something wrong with me taking care of him a little?" I knew about that incident. Three years ago, Seth shielded her from an accident. Ever since then, every time his back hurt, she rushed to his side. Every time he felt insecure, she stayed with him. In the beginning, I felt sorry for him too. I accompanied him to the hospital, helped him get specialist appointments, and even bought him lumbar supports and heating pads. Only later did I realize that the debts of gratitude Amelia owed him were ultimately deducted from my account. Before leaving, Amelia poured a glass of water for me. "Stop overthinking things. The wedding will happen as planned, I won't miss it." Once the door clicked shut, I tapped open my phone calendar. The note for today read: 10:00 AM. Confirm final wedding timeline. I tapped delete. Then I opened a spreadsheet. Shoe balance, venue deposit, wedding planner prepayments, photography deposit, invitation design fee, gift sample costs. I entered every single amount. Most of this money had come out of my pocket. Amelia had mentioned her project bonuses were delayed and asked me to cover the costs first. At the time, I believed we were about to become husband and wife, so there was no need to keep strict accounts. Now I understood that by not keeping score, I ended up losing myself without even realizing it. Around noon, a message popped up in the family group chat. Amelia's mother shared a health article. Seth has a bad back, make sure his seat at the wedding isn't directly under the air conditioner. She quickly added another line: Nathan is so capable, you should take care of these small details. Nobody asked how my body was doing. Nobody knew I had a fever yesterday. I stared at the words Nathan is so capable, feeling a cold chill in my heart. I opened the wedding seating arrangement. The notes for Seth's table were meticulous: Avoid air vents, close to the exit, soft cushion for chair back, low spice menu. Beside my own name, there were only two words: The Groom. Seth was fragile, so everyone felt compelled to protect him. I was sensible, so I was expected to be the carpet everyone walked on. That night, I sent a message to the wedding planner. Let us meet tomorrow. The wedding might be called off. The planner responded immediately. Mr. Nathan, does Miss Amelia know about this? I replied: My name is the only one on the contract. There is no need to notify her. This wedding was planned by me alone from start to finish. Now, it was only fitting that I cancel it alone. On the third day, Amelia agreed to accompany me to the hotel for the menu tasting. This time, I didn't send her a reminder. At five in the afternoon, her text arrived right on cue. Seth has a sudden back flare-up, I am driving him home first. Can you handle the menu tasting yourself? I looked at the line of text and replied with a simple ok. Then, I went to the hotel by myself. The banquet manager looked embarrassed when he saw me walking in alone. "Is Miss Amelia not coming?" "She is busy." The manager didn't push further and handed me the menu. Twelve dishes, every single one picked by me to suit both sets of parents' preferences. Amelia's mother didn't eat cilantro. Her father had high blood sugar, so desserts needed to be low-sugar. Amelia had a sensitive stomach, so warm soup was necessary. Even for Seth, I had made notes regarding his dietary restrictions. The manager flipped through the notes and smiled. "Mr. Nathan is truly attentive, even making special notes for Mr. Seth's back condition and meals." Staring at those words, I suddenly felt a surge of absurdity. I had taken care of a person who had no place in this wedding. Yet the other protagonist of this wedding couldn't even manage to accompany me for a menu tasting. Halfway through the tasting, familiar voices echoed from outside the private room. I looked up and saw Amelia supporting Seth as they walked in, accompanied by a few mutual friends. Someone noticed me and waved cheerfully. "Nathan is here too? Perfect, let us eat together!" Amelia froze for a second. "Why are you here?" I set my chopsticks down. "Menu tasting." A flash of embarrassment crossed her face. The manager added, "Miss Amelia booked a private room downstairs earlier, I thought she was confirming details with you." Seth lowered his head first. "I am so sorry, Nathan. I suddenly craved the food here, so Amelia brought me along. I had no idea you had an appointment today." A friend tried to smooth things over. "We are all friends, no need to make it tense. Seth isn't feeling well, Nathan won't mind, right?" I offered a slight smile. "I don't mind." I had minded for so many years and no one ever cared. Of course I wouldn't start now. Amelia sat down right next to Seth. When the waiter served a plate of sweet lotus root, Seth barely wrinkled his nose before she immediately asked, "Is it too sweet?" He nodded. Amelia instantly instructed the server to replace it with a low-sugar version. I coughed three times during the meal, and she didn't look up once. A friend brought up the wedding schedule. Amelia said, "Nathan handled everything, I don't really know much about the details." Someone remarked with envy, "You are so lucky to marry such a capable husband." Amelia smiled gently. "He is indeed very capable." I lowered my head and drank my water. Sometimes, the word capable doesn't sound like praise. It sounds like a sentence. As the meal neared its end, the manager walked in holding a final script for the itinerary. "Mr. Nathan, shall we confirm this final flow as well?" I took it. The first few items were standard: welcoming guests, grand entrance, vows, ring exchange, tea ceremony. Until item number seven, where my eyes locked. Special Tribute Segment: Seth presents flowers on stage, escorted personally by the bride, Amelia. A note was attached below: Due to Mr. Seth's back injury, position him close to the bride. Omit from the groom's version of the document, arrange spontaneously on site. I stared at the words Omit from the groom's version for a long time. Amelia's expression shifted instantly. She reached out, trying to grab the sheet. "Nathan, that is not what you think." I pulled the paper back. "Then what is it?" Seth stammered in panic, "It's not like that! Your mom said she wanted me to present flowers that day to express gratitude for saving Amelia back then. I was afraid you would overthink it, so I suggested keeping it quiet for now." A short laugh escaped my throat. My wedding. His flower presentation, her hand supporting him, her mother's gratitude. And I, the groom, turned out to be the very last person to know. Our friends fell quiet. Amelia lowered her voice. "It is just a tiny segment, it won't affect the wedding." I looked at her. "What would affect the wedding, then?" Her throat worked, but no sound came out. I laid the itinerary back onto the table. "Manager, cancel the banquet." The manager was stunned. "Mr. Nathan, are you certain? If you cancel now, the deposit is non-refundable, and there will be a cancellation fee." I nodded. "Deduct it." Amelia stood up abruptly. "Nathan, don't act on impulse!" I picked up my coat, my voice perfectly level. "Amelia, I am not acting on impulse." "I have simply realized who this wedding was actually planned for." Leaving the hotel, I drove straight to the wedding planner's office. The coordinator seemed to have caught wind of something already, standing up nervously as I walked in. "Mr. Nathan, regarding the script, it was a miscommunication on our end..." I cut her off. "Bring out all the display materials." On the main poster, Amelia and I stood against a backdrop of white flowers. She smiled softly, and I was smiling too. That photo was taken on the day of our engagement. Less than half an hour after the shot was taken, Seth complained of a stomachache, and she left early. I was left sitting alone at the restaurant, waiting for the staff to box up our engagement cake. The coordinator hesitantly handed over a video proposal script. "This is a pre-ceremony warm-up video Miss Amelia asked us to insert." I took it. There was a line of text inside: Special thanks to Mr. Seth, who stepped forward during Miss Amelia's moment of danger. On the next page were notes for editing materials: Include footage of Mr. Seth trying on the wedding shoes to enhance the emotional atmosphere. I looked up. "Footage of him trying on the shoes?" The coordinator's face turned pale. "Miss Amelia said the camera would only capture the lower legs and shoes from behind without revealing his face, purely as atmospheric footage." My fingers tightened on the paper. So it wasn't just wearing them. It wasn't just the social media post. She was actually planning to play a clip of Seth wearing my wedding shoes during our wedding warm-up video. I closed the script. "Shut everything down." The coordinator asked cautiously, "What about Miss Amelia's side..." "My name is the only one on the contract." She fell silent immediately. I swiped my card to pay off the cancellation penalty. The balance in my bank account dropped significantly. Yet I felt no regret. Money spent could be earned back. Six years squandered on the wrong person were gone forever. On my way home, someone bought the shoes on Poshmark. The buyer was an out-of-town girl who said she was getting married next month on a tight budget. She wanted to buy a decent pair of shoes for her fiancé and asked if I could cover shipping. I agreed. She asked again: Have these really only been tried on once? Staring at the screen, I paused for a moment before replying: Yes. They just don't belong to me anymore. When I arrived home, Amelia wasn't back yet. I retrieved the shoes from their dust bag. They sat quietly inside the box, looking impeccably handsome. I used to imagine countless times walking toward Amelia while wearing them. Looking back now, that path was never a red carpet. It was a set of stairs I laid down all by myself. The doorbell rang. I opened it to find Seth standing there. He held a box of cooling fever patches, an apologetic expression plastered across his face. "Nathan, I came to apologize." I didn't invite him in. He stood in the doorway, his eyes reddening. "I really didn't do it on purpose. Regarding that segment in the script, I planned to explain it to you after the wedding." I stared at him. "After the wedding?" His face stiffened. "I was just worried you would misunderstand. Amelia's mother said everyone knows about what happened back then, so expressing thanks at the wedding would make Amelia look graceful and loyal." Graceful and loyal, what a lovely phrase. Using my wedding to showcase her grace and loyalty. I asked, "What about the Instagram post?" He bit his lip. "I was just so jealous of you. You have the wedding shoes, you have the wedding, you have Amelia. I have nothing." A cold chuckle escaped me. "So you wore my wedding shoes and posted it online for everyone to guess?" Tears fell from his eyes. "I didn't want to steal anything from you, I am just used to her taking care of me." That phrase overlapped perfectly with countless excuses Amelia had made in the past. Used to it. Turns out the scariest thing isn't malice. It's when everyone gets used to expecting me to step back. I pushed the fever patches back into his hand. "You came to the wrong person." Seth froze. "What do you mean?" "Her taking care of you is between the two of you. Whether you want to express gratitude, carry guilt, or fulfill each other's lives, that is all your business." I looked him dead in the eye, pronouncing every word clearly: "Do not use my wedding as a monument for your bond." Seth's face went completely pale. Though he kept offering apologies, his eyes drifted past me to the shoe box resting inside the room. "Nathan, you aren't actually giving up on the wedding, are you? Amelia will be devastated if she finds out." I said, "Then let her be devastated for once." I had been devastated so many times, and nobody ever died from it. After shutting the door, I boxed up the shoes. Just as the courier arrived to pick up the package, Amelia walked through the door. Her eyes landed on the parcel, and her face shifted dramatically. "What is that?" "The wedding shoes." She lunged forward, pressing her hands against the box. "You actually sold them?" "Yes." "Nathan, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?" I looked up at her. "Amelia, the wedding banquet is canceled, and the planners have been dismissed." The anger on her face froze instantly. "What did you say?" I placed a stack of cancellation receipts onto the coffee table. "I paid the penalty fees. I will calculate our shared expenses properly, and your portion will be returned to you in full." Amelia stared at me, panic finally breaking through her eyes. "Nathan, we are supposed to get married." I said, "Not anymore."