Page 3 of After my seventh divorce, I will not remarry

The days without Ryan passed in a blur. Before I knew it, my departure was just a few days away.

I hadn't seen him, but I'd heard from Janice that he and Emma had had a massive fight. He'd even stormed out of a gala, leaving her humiliated. Rumor had it they were fighting about me.

I just laughed it off.

I wasn't that same love-sick girl anymore, the one who would obsessively refresh social media, searching for any sign of a crack in their relationship so I could rush to his side and declare my undying love.

They were just having a lover's quarrel. They'd make up. And what if it was about me? Wasn't I always just a part of their twisted game?

After the fight, though, he started calling me more and more often. I either ignored his calls or made up excuses to avoid seeing him.

The day before I was set to leave, he called again, asking me to the concert.

"I have the tickets. Let's meet tonight, okay?"

"It's our anniversary. You can't say no to me today, can you?"

He had never pleaded with me like this before.

Usually, he would just toss out a suggestion, take a single step towards me, and I would sprint the other ninety-nine to meet him, only to find that he had already taken that one step back for Emma.

But I didn't know what to say.

Because today wasn't our wedding anniversary.

It was the anniversary of our fourth remarriage.

After all this time, all the breakups and makeups, I was the only one who bothered to remember all the little details of our life together.

But in the end, I agreed.

I really did want to see The Remnants.

That night, I waited and waited outside the concert hall, but Ryan never showed up.

I played the voice message he'd just sent. His guilt-ridden voice, mixed with the loud, muffled sounds of the concert and the faint giggle of Emma in the background, filled my ears.

"I'm so sorry, Tiffany. Emma suddenly felt sick. I had to take her to the hospital."

"We'll have plenty more anniversaries to celebrate. Once she leaves tomorrow, I'll do whatever you want, okay?"

The concert started. A haunting melody drifted out from the venue.

"Thanks for the special invitation, to witness your new love's coronation. I tell myself every second, don't run away."

I closed the message and, for the first time in a month, opened my social media.

The first thing I saw was Emma's new post from a few minutes ago: a selfie of her and Ryan at the concert.

"I'm letting go of all my memories, to make room for your new love story. But I still can't believe, this is my destiny."

The song continued, a mocking soundtrack to the flicker of hope I had foolishly allowed myself to feel when I agreed to meet him.

And now, that last flicker was finally, completely extinguished.

Seven divorces. I should have known better, shouldn't I?

But at least this was the last time.

With no lingering feelings left, I turned and went to the airport. I sat there all night.

At 7 a.m., I checked in for my flight.

Ryan sent me a text, asking when we were getting remarried. I didn't reply. I just deleted his contact.

At 8 a.m., I was in the boarding line.

He called. I didn't answer. I just blocked his number.

At 9 a.m., I was on the plane.

The flight attendant asked everyone to switch their phones to airplane mode. Just then, a call came through. It was Janice.

But it was Ryan's voice on the other end, tight with panic.

"Tiffany, where are you?"