Replacing My Fiancé In An Hour

When my parents boarded a flight for the tenth time, traveling thousands of miles across the country to finally meet the man I was supposed to marry, Zachary chose to vanish.

He wouldn't pick up my calls. He didn’t reply to my texts. I sat at a corner table in the diner, ordering cup after cup of black coffee until my stomach burned, watching my screen.

Then, a notification popped up. It was a post from Naomi, my best friend. It was a photo of a snowdusted trail in Aspen, capturing two hands tightly clasped together.

Her caption read: "Tenth trip to the mountains. Double digits of pure perfection." My fingers curled around my phone, squeezing until my knuckles turned white.

On my twentyseventh call, Zachary finally picked up. "Where are you?" I asked.

The howling wind of a ski slope roared through the receiver, followed by his deeply indifferent voice. "Just out. What's up?" "What's up? Zachary, this is the tenth time!

My parents are at their age, they flew all this way, and you—" A beat of silence on his end, followed by a sigh of pure impatience. "Look, Naomi and I are having a blast in Aspen, and I lost track of time.

Tell your parents to wait another three days. I’ll come back and see them once I've had my fun." Before I could demand an explanation, the line went dead.

My trembling lips reflected in the dark screen of my phone.

I forced a small, hollow smile and looked up at my parents. "Since he's not coming," I said quietly, "let's find someone else to meet." … Three days later.

Zachary dragged his suitcase through the front door, with Naomi trailing closely behind him. "Naomi is absolutely parched.

Get her some water, quick!" Neither of them bothered to take off their shoes.

They collapsed onto the living room sofa, their legs tangled together with an easy, shameless familiarity. "Babe, I want the peach yogurt," Naomi called out. "And Isla, my usual," Zachary chimed in.

I didn't say a word. I went to the kitchen, retrieved a peach yogurt and a sparkling water, and placed them on the coffee table.

Without thinking, Zachary reached for the yogurt, twisted off the lid, and handed it to Naomi. Only then did he grab his sparkling water, chugging it down in massive gulps.

As he drank, Naomi reached over with a tissue, naturally wiping the condensation and sweat from his jawline, his lips, and his neck.

I stood by the kitchen island, completely ignored, like a hired waitress who had outlived her usefulness.

Once he finished the bottle, Zachary finally looked at me. "We're almost out of the peach yogurt in the fridge, aren't we? Make sure you order another case.

Otherwise, she won't have anything to drink next time she comes over." He had been home for ten minutes. He had spoken exactly three sentences. Two of them were about Naomi.

As for my parents? Whether they were still in town, whether they were furious, how I had sent them off—he hadn't asked a single question. He only cared about the yogurt Naomi liked.

He had completely forgotten to ask if I still had enough of my favorite blueberry ones.

I pulled out my phone, tapped the screen a few times, and cancelled my monthly subscription for the blueberry yogurt, swapping it entirely to peach.

I held the screen up to his face. "Satisfied?" Perhaps noticing the coldness in my eyes, Naomi smiled, trying to soften the tension. "He’s only being this attentive because I’m your best friend—he basically treats me like his favorite bridesmaid.

You don't mind, do you, Isla?" A laugh threatened to bubble up from my throat, bitter and sharp.

My actual parents had traveled across the country ten times, and he couldn't even bother to show his face. Yet here he was, playing the doting brotherinlaw to her.

He really thought I was a fool. "Isla is actually mad! Say something!" Naomi nudged Zachary's shoulder, feigning disapproval. Zachary leaned back lazily. "Don't worry.

Compared to you, she's easy to deal with.

Just give her a cold shoulder for a couple of days, and she’ll come crawling back on her own." He tilted his chin at me, his smile dripping with absolute certainty. "Right, Isla?" "Zacharyary!" Naomi bolted upright, kicking his shin. "I won't let you talk to Isla like that.

Apologize right now!" "Alright, alright. I'm sorry." "That's better..." Their playful banter echoed in my ears, making my chest tighten with a dull, suffocating ache.

It looked like she was defending me, but only now did I realize I was merely an extra in their little game.

Once Naomi finally left, Zachary finally remembered my parents. "Where are they, anyway?" Even as he asked, his eyes remained glued to his phone, a faint, private smile playing on his lips. "They went home." I dragged my suitcase out from the closet, laid it flat in front of my desk, and began packing my belongings, piece by piece.

There was silence from the living room. Then, a quiet, indifferent sound. "Oh." Oh. My parents had braved their severe fear of flying to come here ten times.

When I met them at the gate, their hands were shaking from the anxiety of the flight. But they never complained. They only wanted to see the man I was building a life with.

And he had stood them up. No apology, no explanation.

Just a casual, weightless "Oh." Like this crowded, suffocating relationship we shared, everything looked sparkling on the surface, but there was no longer any room for me.

Thankfully, I didn't plan on waiting anymore. By the time my suitcase was halffull, my phone chimed. It was an email from HR, formally approving my resignation.

Zachary finally looked up from his screen. Seeing the open suitcase, he shook his head without a second thought. "Isla, I used up all my PTO for the Aspen trip.

I don't have time to go on vacation with you right now. Let's do it next time." He stood up, walking toward me. "We have plenty of time down the road.

There's no need to rush into this right now, is there?" For Naomi, he had all the time in the world. For her, he could take his PTO. But when it came to me, he was out of time.

My hand hovered over a stack of sweaters, suddenly lacking the strength to pick them up. My mouth tasted like ash.

In our eight years of living together, the words he said to me most often were never "I love you." They were "next time" and "there's no rush." Every time he vanished when my parents arrived, his excuses were never elaborate.

But they always, without fail, involved Naomi. Helping Naomi move, driving Naomi to a conference, taking Naomi to the clinic for a sprained ankle...

Whenever I dared to question it, he would sneer. "Isla, you're not as smart or careerdriven as Naomi. Being easygoing is your only real saving grace. She's your best friend.

Don't lose your only good trait over petty jealousy." The one who loves more is always the one who compromises. So, I stopped asking, and he stopped explaining.

Naomi became like the air we breathed—invisible, yet occupying every corner of our lives. Until this Aspen trip. I was completely done.

I raised my head and looked directly into his eyes. "Zachary, let's break up." He froze, finally putting his phone down. "What nonsense are you talking about now?" I zipped the suitcase, stood it upright, and let out a quiet breath. "I'm serious." He frowned, looking at me as if I had just told a bad joke. "Break up?

Because Naomi and I went to Aspen? Because of your parents?

Didn't I just say we'd go next time?" He stood under the warm light of the hallway, his face suddenly looking entirely unfamiliar. "Naomi and I are software engineers at the same firm.

We work on the same projects. Of course we're going to be close. But she's your best friend.

You shouldn't be jealous of her." I kept my eyes lowered. "Actually, you two make a great couple. High achievers in college, both working at a big tech giant now." "Isla!

Cut the crap! If I had met her first, maybe things would be different.

But I didn't." Frustrated, Zachary ripped off his buttondown shirt, tossing it carelessly near my feet, and turned toward the bathroom.

The light in the hallway was dim, but it couldn't hide the angry, fresh red scratch marks trailing down his shoulder blades. I stared at them for what felt like an eternity.

And then I remembered yesterday, while ordering my third cup of coffee. My phone had buzzed with a shared account notification: Room 909 checked in. Guests: Zacharyary, Naomi.

In that exact moment, I didn't even have the energy to wonder why my best friend was sleeping with the man I loved.

I had only stood there, hands shaking violently, tearing open sugar packet after sugar packet, dumping them into my mug.

Even with all that sweetness, every breath I drew tasted bitter. "Let's break up," I called out to his retreating back. "I'm getting—" The deafening slam of the bathroom door cut me off, drowning out the word "married." The next morning, back at the office to finish my transition paperwork, my colleague Katie leaned over my desk. "Isla, did you really break up with Zachary?" I nodded.

A look of pure fury crossed her face. "Good. Honestly, he's a piece of work. Just an hour ago, Naomi from Tech gagged a few times in the breakroom, and Zachary went completely pale.

He literally scooped her up in his arms and rushed her to the hospital." My fingers froze over the keyboard. "Gagged?" Katie nodded rapidly. "Yeah.

Everyone's whispering that she's pregnant." She glanced around, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Isla, I know she's your best friend, but she's no friend to you.

She and Zachary have been messy for a long time.

Naomi didn't even meet the hiring criteria for this place; Zachary actually took a pay cut just to negotiate her entry onto his team. But when you applied years ago?

He didn't lift a finger to help you." I felt a sharp, heavy ache in my chest. "So... she didn't get the standard campus recruitment offer?" Katie shook her head, her eyes filled with pity. "Of course not.

The HR director told me himself. You’re an awardwinning designer, Isla, and you’ve been stuck working the front desk here. It’s a joke.

Get out of here." Katie's eyes welled with tears as she helped me pack my desk into a single cardboard box. I had never wanted to move to San Francisco.

But Zachary and Naomi had begged me, saying we all had job offers here and could look out for one another.

And they certainly looked out for each other—all the way into the same bed. I had spent eight years at this company, yet my belongings didn't even fill a small cardboard box.

Just like the eight years I spent in that apartment, my entire life fit into a single twentyinch suitcase. Zachary was right. I was stupid.

Everyone else saw what was happening, yet I had to see a hotel booking with my own eyes before I finally let go.

Because back in college, Naomi was the one who bought me heating pads when my cramps were unbearable.

She was the one who grabbed my shoulders when I was too terrified to enter design competitions, declaring, "Our Isla is going to be a star!" She was the one who promised, "Zachary and I are going to build a shield around you.

No one will ever hurt you." She had looked at me with such fierce sincerity. I never imagined the person who would drive the knife deepest into my back would be her.

But ten years of shared history don't vanish overnight, no matter how much you want them to.

When I walked into the hospital room with my box of belongings, I saw them through the glass, hugging tightly.

Naomi was weeping, her voice trembling. "Zachary, let's just terminate it. Isla has already planned the wedding.

We can't do this to her..." Zachary cut her off, his voice urgent. "No! I'm only going through the motions with her. You're the one I actually love.

I wanted to tell her parents the first time they came to visit, but you kept stopping me. This baby is a sign.

We should—" I pushed the door open, the wood scraping loudly against the floor.

I stood at the threshold, my face entirely drained of color. "Did you keep me in the dark because you assumed I was too stupid to ever find out?" Zachary spun around, freezing as if he had been pinned to the spot.

His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes wide. Naomi frantically grabbed his arm. "Explain to her!

Zachary, tell her it's not what it looks like!" But Zachary only stared at me. "You know. Good.

Keeping this from you was exhausting anyway." "Zacharyary, shut up!" Naomi grabbed his sleeve, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me. "Isla, please, it was an accident.

I swear. I'll get an abortion and move far away. I’ll never show my face near you guys again. Please don't hate me." Seeing her cry, Zachary panicked.

He pulled her tightly against his chest, cooing softly, "Naomi, don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault I don't love her.

Your tears are breaking my heart." One crying, one comforting. I had never seen my boyfriend of ten years be so gentle.

In all our years together, that tenderness, that soft surrender, had never been offered to me. It was always reserved for my best friend.

A tear slipped down my cheek, but I wiped it away before they could see. I took a step back into the hallway. "Naomi, Zachary and I are done.

Whatever you two do now has absolutely nothing to do with me." With that, I shut the door, picked up my box, and walked away. Zachary didn't come home that night.

Instead, my phone lit up with endless texts from Naomi. Isla, please don't blame me. You and Zachary were never a match.

Since we're best friends, it's better he’s with me than some stranger. I grew up without a father, Isla. I can't let my baby grow up without one too.

I blocked her number without replying. Then I walked over to the refrigerator, pulled open the bottom drawer, and threw every single bottle of blueberry yogurt into the trash.

Each dull thud against the bottom of the bin felt like a heavy blow to my chest. When we first moved in together, Zachary was just an intern.

He had spent his very first paycheck to buy me yogurt, meticulously organizing them on the middle shelves so I wouldn't have to bend down.

He told me I was a space cadet outside of my drawings and needed someone to look after me. Back then, he could be fierce too.

He would scold me as he threw away my instant ramen, pulling me against his chest and murmuring, "Isla, did you move in with me just to slowly poison yourself with trash?" When did he change?

The tears blurred my vision again. I wiped them away and kept purging the apartment.

The lucky clover sitting on my desk, the handwritten letters from our college days, the little clay figurines he had molded for me... every single piece went into the trash.

When the sun broke through the curtains, the front door unlocked. Zachary stood in the entryway, his face set in a hard, cold line. He didn't bother taking off his shoes.

He marched straight up to me, pulling his keys from his pocket. But before he could even hand them over— Slap! A sharp, ringing blow struck my cheek, forcing my head to the side.

I cradled my face, my fingers immediately coming away wet with a cold smear of blood.

Zachary stared down at me, his eyes bloodshot and filled with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Because of you, Naomi terminated the pregnancy.

Are you happy now?" "It was barely an embryo. It didn't even have a heartbeat yet, and you had to go and attack her with your words?

Now she's hemorrhaging on an operating table, and we don't even know if she's going to make it! Is this what you wanted?" He screamed, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing rage.

There were no questions. No attempt to find the truth. Only a savage, absolute accusation. As if every tragedy in Naomi’s life was entirely my fault.

I lifted my head and unlocked my phone, holding it out to him with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. "Did I say a single cruel word to her?

Look at the texts yourself!" With a violent swipe of his hand, Zachary knocked the phone from my grip.

It soared across the room, smashing against the far wall and shattering into pieces. That phone was the first gift he had ever bought me with his intern salary. Now it was broken.

Completely. Just like the hollow remains of our relationship.

I remembered how his face had flushed red when he gave it to me, shifting awkwardly before speaking. "We have the same phone now, just different colors.

Like a couple's set." But over the years, he had changed his phone repeatedly, and every single time, he miraculously ended up with the exact color Naomi preferred. "Isla, I had a plan," Zachary said, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "I was going to wait until the baby was born, and then I was going to cut Naomi out of my life completely.

I was going to marry you. We were going to register our license. I was going to give you everything." "But your malice ruined it all. You wanted a breakup? Fine. We’re done.

Get the hell out of my sight." He pointed toward the front door, his eyes swimming with a deep, bitter disappointment. Then, he turned and slammed the door behind him.

His heavy footsteps faded down the hallway. The distant chime of the elevator echoed through the quiet.

Once the building fell into a absolute silence, I placed my bloody keys on the entryway table. As the door clicked shut behind me, the tears finally spilled over, hot and fast.

But I didn't hesitate. I felt nothing but a profound, quiet relief. Naomi. Zachary. My life would never cross paths with either of them again.