He Can Keep My Ruined Suit

This was our third wedding rehearsal, and once again, Chelsea’s best friend, Cody, was wearing my customtailored suit.

He strutted up to me, tugging at the collar with a theatrical grimace. "God, getting married is such a chore," he complained, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. "Why do guys have to wear these straight jackets?

This thing is so tight, it’s practically cutting off my circulation." He patted my shoulder with a patronizing grin. "But hey, I’m taking the bullet for you today.

No need to thank me.

Just let Chelsea off the hook tonight so she can give me a proper bachelor sendoff." Around us, our friends laughed, treating the whole display like a harmless joke.

I didn’t smile.

I kept my eyes on Chelsea. "He’s wearing my suit again," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Did you forget what you promised me after the last time?" Chelsea’s face darkened instantly. "What do you mean, 'wearing your suit again'?" she snapped, her tone dripping with defensive irritation. "Cody was just trying to help.

He knew you were exhausted from work, so he stepped in to finish the rehearsal for you.

Don't throw his kindness back in his face." In that exact moment, shimmering golden words drifted across my vision, like a livestream chat rolling through the air. [Chelsea is just a scared little girl deep down.

She’s so insecure, she’s only doing this to test how much Jesse will tolerate for her.] [Once Jesse passes this third test, she’s going to give him the perfect wedding.] [She’s literally dying for him to just wrap his arms around her and soothe her right now.] I stared at the glowing text and felt a sudden, hollow laugh rise in my chest.

For years, I had let these phantom comments guide me. But not today.

Looking at Chelsea’s tense, stubborn face, I spoke softly. "Since he's so eager to help, let him stand in for me at the wedding tomorrow, too." … The rehearsal hall went deathly quiet.

Chelsea froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. The friends who had been snickering moments before now exchanged uneasy glances. A profound exhaustion settled deep into my bones.

I turned to leave, but Chelsea’s bridesmaid, Becca, quickly stepped into my path, blocking the exit. "Jesse, come on, Cody was just messing around," she said, her voice dripping with forced sweetness. "He didn't mean anything by it.

Chelsea only snapped because she’s stressed. Just say something nice to her, and this will all blow over." A bitter ache bloomed in my chest.

Chelsea was the one hurling insults, and I was the one left humiliated. Yet, like always, everyone in our circle expected me to be the one to swallow my pride and apologize.

For the past eight years, every single time Chelsea and I fought, those golden comments would flash before my eyes, assuring me that I was the love of her life.

They told me that because she had been abandoned by her parents as a child, she had no sense of security, that she only pushed me away to see if I would run.

So, even when she was entirely in the wrong, I would always bow my head and comfort her. But I was done. I was so incredibly tired.

I looked Becca dead in the eye, my voice entirely flat. "I’m not joking.

I won’t be at the wedding tomorrow." Then I looked past her to Chelsea. "We're over." The color drained from Chelsea’s face, leaving her ghostly pale.

But almost immediately, a fierce, defensive anger flared in her eyes. "You’re breaking up with me over this?" she yelled, her voice trembling. "Fine! Pack your things and get out!

Tomorrow I’ll marry Cody instead. And don't you dare think about crawling back.

Even if you get down on your knees and beg, I will never take you back!" The golden text erupted across my field of vision, frantic and dense. [What is the male lead doing?

Chelsea’s heart is literally breaking right now. She’s only saying these awful things to make him turn around!] [She’s going to regret this so much.

She actually planned a massive surprise for him tonight!] A surprise?

Looking at Cody, who was still smirking in the suit I had spent a month designing, I realized I didn't care about her surprises anymore.

During our first rehearsal, Cody complained the suit was too loose and took a pair of scissors to the seams, hacking away at my handiwork.

During the second rehearsal, Cody insisted on choreographing a dramatic dance routine.

He tripped, fell off the stage, and ripped a massive hole through the delicate fabric of the trousers. I had wept. I had screamed.

I had even lost my temper and slapped Cody across the face. But Chelsea had immediately shielded him, glaring at me like I was a monster. "It’s just a suit, Jesse!

You can design another one. Is it really worth bullying Cody over a piece of cloth?" And the golden text had chimed in: [Chelsea knows Cody went too far.

She’s just testing to see if Jesse’s love for her is truly unconditional.] So, I let it go. Both of those weddings had fallen through.

Afterward, I told Chelsea I just wanted to go to the courthouse, to skip the pageantry entirely. But she had insisted on a third attempt.

She held my hand and swore to me that she would never let Cody touch my suit again. Yet, here we were. My throat felt tight, as if stuffed with dry cotton.

I looked at Chelsea’s flushed, angry face and spoke quietly. "Fine. I'm leaving." As I turned on my heel, Cody let out a sharp, derisive scoff. "Unbelievable.

Some guys just don't know how to be grateful," he muttered, crossing his arms. "I spend all evening helping out, and I don't even get a thank you. Just this dramatic exit.

Look, it’s just a jacket. I’ll take it off right now so you can stop whining to Chelsea." He gripped the lapels and yanked the jacket off with aggressive force.

As the fabric parted, I realized with a sick jolt that he was wearing my customtailored shirt underneath, too.

I instinctively reached out to grab the jacket before it could hit the floor. But Cody smirked and tossed it over his shoulder.

The beautiful, offwhite silk landed squarely in the middle of a messy buffet table, splashing directly into a halfempty bowl of greasy pasta.

This was the dinner Chelsea had asked me to arrange and pay for to thank the bridal party. A hot, stinging sensation rushed behind my eyes.

Thirty days of sleepless nights, of calloused fingers and meticulous stitching, ruined in a second of greasy gravity.

I raised my eyes to Cody, but before I could utter a single word, Chelsea lunged forward and gripped my wrist in a vice grip.

Her hand was shaking violently, but her voice was freezing cold. "It’s just a stained jacket, Jesse. Don't you dare touch Cody." She wasn't angry about the suit.

She was just terrified I would hurt her precious best friend again.

The golden comments sped up, flashing rapidly. [Chelsea looks like she’s taking the second male lead’s side, but honestly, if Jesse just swallows his pride like he always does, she’ll finally feel safe.] [She’s a broken little thing.

She’s already counting down the seconds until he forgives her.] I let out a soft, hollow laugh and wrenched my wrist from her grip. "You're right," I said. "It's just a stained jacket.

And just like this suit, I don't want it anymore." I looked at her, letting the weight of my words sink in. "And I don't want you, either." Becca gasped loudly. "But the wedding... if the suit is ruined, we can't do the wedding tomorrow.

What about the surprise Chelsea got for you, Jesse?" The golden comments surged again. [Chelsea tracked down the original paintings Jesse sold years ago!

She bought them all back!] [She was going to present them to him at the reception tomorrow as a reward for his patience.] My head snapped up.

I stared at Chelsea’s trembling lips, and for a fleeting, painful second, my numb heart stuttered back to life.

Chelsea met my gaze, her eyes cold and devoid of warmth. "The surprise was actually for Cody," she lied, her voice tight. "And since Jesse doesn't want to be here, I'm giving all of them to Cody right now." On her cue, several assistants began carrying large, wrapped frames into the hall, lining them up in front of Cody.

My body went entirely rigid. Those twelve paintings were my pride and joy—the collection that had won me a national arts scholarship in college.

When Chelsea wanted to start her own fashion line years ago and couldn't secure a loan, I had sold them to a private collector to give her the capital.

I remembered the night I handed her the money. She had clung to me in our tiny apartment, sobbing into my shoulder. "Jesse, no one has ever loved me like this. No one ever will.

I swear to you, the second my business takes off, I’ll find these paintings and buy every single one of them back for you." I had believed her.

But now that she had finally tracked them down, she was handing them to Cody. The text kept scrolling. [Can’t Jesse see how much pain Chelsea is in?

All he has to do is say he wants them, and she’ll hand them over in a heartbeat.] Chelsea’s jaw was set tight, a desperate, expectant look lingering deep in her eyes.

Becca nudged my elbow, whispering, "Jesse, just apologize to her. You’ve been putting up with her for eight years.

What’s one more time?" Instead of answering, I watched Chelsea lift one of the paintings and hand it directly to Cody. "These are yours now," she said loudly, her eyes fixed on me. "No one can take them from you." Cody flashed me a triumphant, nasty grin. "Well, since they're mine, I guess I can do whatever I want with them." He reached onto the buffet table, grabbed a steak knife, and drove the blade straight through the canvas, dragging it down in a brutal, jagged motion. "I absolutely loathe when guys try to leverage their past favors to guilt women," Cody sneered, glancing at me. "Real love is unconditional.

Expecting a return on your investment is just pathetic." He moved to the next frame, the blade ripping through years of my hard work.

I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails bit into my palms, drawing blood. With every tear of the canvas, it felt as though he was slicing directly into my chest.

And Chelsea just stood there. She watched him destroy my life's work, and she didn't lift a finger to stop him.

The golden text was still flashing, but I closed my eyes, refusing to read another word. The paintings were gone.

And with them, the very last piece of whatever beauty Chelsea and I had once shared crumbled into ash. I turned and walked out of the venue, the heavy doors swinging shut behind me.

As the cool night air hit my face, Cody’s mocking voice echoed in my head. "Man, Chelsea, your guy is a joke. So incredibly petty.

His tolerance level is basically zero." And Chelsea’s cold reply: "He’s obsessed with me.

He’ll probably have a pathetic excuse lined up to apologize by the time I get home." I let out a quiet, bitter laugh into the empty street. No, Chelsea. Not this time.

There are no more apologies left in me. Back at our apartment, I immediately began packing.

My mother had already planned to move out of the city tomorrow afternoon to go live with my grandparents in Seattle, hoping to spend her remaining years caring for them.

Since there was no wedding to attend anymore, I figured I would just leave with her. As I packed, a painful realization washed over me.

All of my personal belongings—my clothes, my sketchbooks, my documents—fit into a single, modest suitcase.

Everything else I owned had been systematically thrown away over the past year.

Cody had claimed my things were "eyesores" that cluttered the apartment, and Chelsea had let him toss them. When I had protested, she had simply shrugged. "Cody's right, Jesse.

Men have too much junk anyway. You need to learn to let things go." Yet, when Cody’s belongings began slowly filling the empty spaces in our home, she never said a word.

Looking around this beautiful apartment that had absolutely no room for me, I pulled out my phone, intending to call a real estate agent to list my half of the property.

But before I could dial, the front door clicked open. Chelsea and Cody walked in.

Seeing the suitcase at my feet, Cody raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Look at this, Chelsea. Your little drama queen is at it again.

Is he trying to kick me out, or does he just not love you anymore?" He held up a plastic takeout container. "And to think we actually felt bad for him.

We brought back the leftovers from rehearsal dinner for him and Rusty." Rusty was Cody’s golden retriever, whom he had moved into our apartment months ago.

And the leftovers were from the very table where my suit had been ruined.

The defensive anger returned to Chelsea’s face, masking the brief flash of panic I had caught when she first saw my suitcase. "Jesse, what is wrong with you?" she demanded, throwing her keys onto the counter. "I am warning you, my patience is wearing thin.

If you walk out that door tonight, you are never coming back. Do you understand me? You will lose me forever." [Jesse, please hold your ground, but don't actually leave!

Can't you see she's just terrified of losing you?] [She was literally crying in the car on the way home. Just give her a hug and she’ll forgive you.] [She can’t survive without you.

She’s only acting tough because she wants you to submit one last time.] Reading the text now, I felt nothing but a profound sense of disgust.

Ever since Chelsea met Cody in the business world, I had done nothing but submit.

When I had a fever of 103 and begged her to bring me medicine, she had gone out and stayed overnight at Cody’s place because he had a minor stomach ache and "needed her." When Cody’s apartment was being remodeled, she had invited him to move into our home without even asking me, slowly erasing my presence from my own living space.

I had tolerated all of it because those stupid golden comments told me it was just her insecurity. But my compliance had only fed their cruelty.

The love I had harbored for her for nearly a decade was completely dead. I looked at her, my eyes entirely clear. "I’m not coming back.

And I'm selling this place." Chelsea’s pupils dilated in shock. But Cody suddenly burst out laughing, a loud, grating sound. "Sell it? With what authority?

This is my apartment!" A cold dread pooled in my stomach.

I turned to Chelsea, whose eyes had suddenly darted away, refusing to meet mine. "What is he talking about?" my voice trembled.

Chelsea reached out, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to grab my hand, but Cody casually draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her back. "It means Chelsea signed the deed over to me last month," Cody said smoothly. "Come on, Jesse.

You claim to love her, right? You're not seriously going to grudge her giving a house to her best friend, are you?" My hands began to shake violently.

To ensure Chelsea and I wouldn't have the burden of a massive mortgage, my mother had sold her own beautiful home.

She had used every penny of her savings—nearly $200,000—to pay off our remaining debt so we could start our lives together debtfree.

Because of that sacrifice, my mother was currently renting a cramped, damp apartment in a dilapidated part of town.

And Chelsea had handed that very home to Cody without a single word to me. A blinding wave of fury rushed to my head.

Before I could think, I raised my hand and swung it toward Chelsea's face. But before my palm could connect, Cody threw himself in front of her.

He hit the floor with a dramatic thud, immediately letting out a pathetic wail. "Ow!

God, Chelsea, he’s trying to kill me!" he sobbed, clutching his stomach. "He’s attacking me just so he can steal my apartment!

Does he hate you so much that he’d resort to violence just to get away from you?" Chelsea’s eyes flared red with fury. "Fine! You want to leave?

Then get the hell out!" She grabbed my arm, her grip brutal and frantic, and violently shoved me toward the hallway.

The heavy front door slammed shut in my face, the lock clicking into place. I stood alone in the dimly lit corridor, holding nothing but my phone.

The golden text exploded, swirling frantically before my eyes. [Jesse, don't leave!

She's only throwing you out because she's terrified you're actually going to abandon her!] [She kept your suitcase inside on purpose so you’d have to come back!

If you leave now, she’s going to lose her mind!] [He’s crying outside, and she’s crying inside.

This is so devastating.] [Even though she gave the apartment to Cody, she was actually planning on buying a mansion for Jesse anyway!] I ignored the comments.

Taking one last look at the blank, white door of the home that was no longer mine, I turned and walked away into the night, heading toward the tiny, cramped apartment my mother rented.

When I arrived, my mother was dressed and waiting, ready to call an Uber to take her to the hotel near our venue.

Seeing me standing on her doorstep with bloodshot eyes and no luggage, her heart broke. "Jesse? What happened?

Is the wedding... off again?" The dam broke, and tears finally spilled over my cheeks. "Yeah, Mom. It's over.

We're not getting married." I couldn't bring myself to tell her about the apartment, about how her immense sacrifice had been handed over to a parasite.

I simply told her that Chelsea and I had broken up for good. But before we could even process the grief, the thin front door of the apartment was kicked open.

Chelsea stormed in, her face twisted in rage. "Jesse! You beat Cody half to death, and you think you can just walk away?" she screamed. "Do you have any idea how fragile he is?

He just had surgery last week!" "I didn't even touch him!" I yelled back, my voice cracking.

Cody stepped out from behind her, looking entirely fine, save for a smug, mocking glint in his eyes. "I really thought better of you, Jesse," he said, turning to my mother. "But I guess you didn't raise him very well.

Chelsea is the most generous woman in the world—she was nice enough to sign her apartment over to me—and your son responds by beating me up and refusing to even apologize." My mother’s face went instantly pale.

She stared at Chelsea, her breath hitching in her throat. "What... what did you say?

Chelsea... you gave Jesse's apartment to this man?" Cody smiled, pulling a folded deed from his pocket. "Yep. See for yourself.

It’s registered under my name now." My mother stared at the document, her hand rising slowly to her chest.

She gasped, a choked, rattling sound escaping her throat, and collapsed heavily onto the linoleum floor. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

I threw myself beside her, panicked. "Mom! Mom, please! Don't do this, talk to me!" But her body was convulsing, her lips turning a terrifying shade of blue.

I looked up at Chelsea, sobbing hysterically. "She’s having a heart attack! Chelsea, please, we need to get her to the hospital!

Call an ambulance!" The golden text flickered back to life. [Chelsea is terrified. She only came here to find an excuse to bring Jesse home.

She’s completely desperate.] [She didn’t know Cody was going to bring the deed. Jesse, please don't be mad at her.] "Chelsea, please!" I screamed.

My mother had already survived one major heart surgery; the doctors had warned us that another severe shock could be fatal.

Seeing the sheer terror on my face, Chelsea took a step forward, her hand reaching out toward my mother.

But right then, Cody let out a sharp, theatrical groan, collapsing against the doorframe. "Chelsea... my stomach. My surgical wound is bleeding.

Jesse must have ruptured my stitches earlier." He looked at my mother with a sneer. "And she’s clearly faking it.

She’s just trying to help her son escape the consequences." He closed his eyes and let his head drop, pretending to faint. Chelsea’s hand instantly retreated from my mother.

She caught Cody as he "collapsed" into her arms, cradling him against her chest.

She looked down at me, her expression hardening into bitter annoyance. "Tell your mother to stop acting.

I’m not falling for this cheap trick." She adjusted her grip on Cody. "I’m taking Cody to the emergency room to get his stitches checked.

Once you’ve calmed down and decided to act like a rational adult, I’ll come back to get you." With that, she turned and carried Cody down the stairs. My mother had stopped moving.

My hands shook so violently I could barely unlock my phone to dial 911. By the time the paramedics arrived, it was already too late.

She didn't even make it to the operating table before the doctors pronounced her dead.

I sat on the cold floor of the hospital corridor, clutching her lifeless body, screaming until my throat bled.

Three days later, holding a small urn containing my mother’s ashes, I boarded a oneway flight to Seattle.

After spending three days entirely consumed by Cody’s demands, Chelsea finally found a spare moment to visit the cramped apartment.

She had bought a expensive peace offering—a watch I had admired months ago.

She had convinced herself that as long as I promised to put her first from now on, she would overlook my "tantrum" and marry me anyway.

She knocked on the door, but the apartment remained entirely silent.

Just as a strange, cold panic began to tighten around her chest, the landlord from next door opened his door. "Stop knocking," the woman said, leaning against the frame. "The lady who lived there passed away a few days ago." "Dead?" Chelsea’s voice cracked. "How is that possible?

She was perfectly fine when I left." "Well, she wasn't fine," the landlord scoffed, crossing her arms. "She had a massive heart attack. Delayed medical attention, apparently.

Her son’s eyes were swollen shut from crying when he turned in the keys.

The funeral’s already over." Chelsea’s face went entirely white, the expensive gift box slipping from her numb fingers and crashing onto the dirty floor.