The Groom Has Already Been Replaced

During our dinners, Logan would always snap the sharp wooden tips off the skewers and place them right next to Cassie’s hand.

He made sure the broken, blunt ends faced outward so she could grab them easily without looking.

I sat across from them, watching in silence as Logan anticipated her every need. "Be careful," he murmured, his eyes fixed on her. "Don't poke your lip like you did last time." Meanwhile, the table in front of me was crowded with plates of extraspicy wings and chililaden dishes.

There wasn’t a single thing I could eat.

Once Cassie had eaten her fill, Logan reached over and pushed her leftover skewers toward me like an act of charity. "Go ahead and finish these.

Don't let them go to waste." I looked down at my hand.

The faint, jagged scar between my thumb and forefinger was still visible—a reminder of the heavy, rusted kitchen shears he had handed me last month.

He hadn’t asked if I was hurt then; he had only sighed, annoyed, and told me to go buy some Neosporin.

But right now, because Cassie had managed to get a microscopic wooden splinter in her finger, he was holding her hand like it was made of spun glass, spent five minutes delicately working a pair of tweezers.

I quietly pushed the remaining chilicovered skewers back to the center of the table and stood up. "It’s going to rain soon.

You two finish up, I’m going to head back." I thought of our wedding, scheduled for next month.

Deep down, a quiet certainty settled in my chest: the groom had to change. … Logan looked up at me, his hand holding the tweezers pausing for a fraction of a second. "Wait for me—" He cut himself off, his eyes lingering on my thin jacket before shifting to Cassie, who was shivering slightly beside him. "Get home safe," he said.

The bulb above our apartment porch had been dead for over a year. I had asked Logan to fix it countless times, but he never got around to it.

Every night, I had to fumble through the pitchblack entryway to find my keys. Our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, caught me struggling in the dark. "Back alone again, Naomi?

I thought you two were heading out of town today to visit your parents." I forced a polite smile. "Something came up at his work.

He couldn't get away." It was four hours later when the front door finally clicked open. Logan’s right shoulder was dark and soaked from the rain.

He shook off his coat and hung it on the rack. "It’s supposed to freeze tomorrow. Make sure you pack an extra jacket for Cassie when you go out.

You know how she always forgets." "Why are you so late?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Logan glanced at me, kicking off his shoes. "You left too early.

If you’d stayed, you could’ve caught the movie with us.

If you really want to see it, I can take you this weekend to see it again, or you can just go by yourself." "When this weekend?" He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Things are just crazy at work right now.

I can’t say for sure. Besides, Cassie’s been struggling to find a job since she moved here, and she’s really depressed.

I need to keep an eye on her." I stared at him. "Crazy at work." I had heard those three words for years.

Whenever my plans clashed with Cassie’s needs, I was always the one expected to yield, to compromise, to step back.

In the end, his solution was always for me to do things alone. "My parents called," I said. "They wanted to know why we canceled again." "Didn’t I tell you to just tell them I was slammed with a new project?

We’ll go down together next time. It’s the same thing." He sighed, loosening his collar. "Cassie is completely alone in this city. She doesn't know anyone.

It’s exactly like how we were when we first arrived." Looking into his eyes, a sudden wave of memory washed over me.

When I first followed Logan to this city, I had nothing but a single, battered suitcase.

He had held my hands, his eyes burning with a fierce, protective warmth. "We’ll buy our own place here," he had whispered. "I promise I’ll take care of you forever, Naomi." I had believed him.

But somewhere along the way, I had ceased to be the only person he wanted to protect.

I had simply become one of his many responsibilities—and the easiest one to neglect. "I know I’ve been spending a lot of time helping her lately," Logan said, stepping closer and tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "But her mother practically begged me to look after her.

She’s like a little sister to me, Naomi. Once she gets settled on her own feet, I’ll make it up to you. I promise." I flinched slightly, tilting my head away from his touch.

I didn't answer. He could plan out Cassie’s future so clearly, yet he completely forgot how long my parents had been waiting for us to visit.

I hadn’t been home for the holidays in years, and this trip had been his idea in the first place. I had spent weeks looking forward to it.

Now, a simple "she’s like a sister" was supposed to excuse everything, pinning me to a wall of quiet humiliation. It wasn't that he was too busy.

He just didn't think I was worth his time or his patience. He noticed the mug in my hand and frowned. "Is that hot chamomile tea?" "I’m not feeling well.

My stomach has been cramping." His brow furrowed further. "Why didn't you tell me? If I’d known, I would’ve ordered some soup to the apartment.

You shouldn't have come out to a spicy diner in the first place." He paused, adjusting his watch. "Look, since you’re under the weather, I’ll just partner up with Cassie for the neighborhood association's charity scavenger hunt next week." "You know that’s an event for couples, right?" I said.

Sensing the coldness in my voice, Logan reached out and squeezed my hand. His voice dropped to a coaxing murmur. "I know, babe.

But the grand prize is a luxury weekend getaway voucher. It’s a waste not to try. Once we win it, you and I will go on a trip.

Just the two of us." I had spent three consecutive days refreshing the registration page just to secure a spot for us in that event.

The voucher was for a coastal resort I had dreamed of visiting for months. Yet even a promise like that could be reassigned to Cassie without a second thought.

I remembered last New Year’s Eve. A single, panicked phone call from Cassie about a blown fuse was all it took for Logan to leave me in the middle of our dinner.

I had spent the night curled up alone in bed, flinching at the sound of the thunder outside, unable to sleep until the sky turned gray.

Since Cassie moved to this city, I had lost count of how many nights I spent waiting up for a husbandtobe who never came home. "Oh, by the way," Logan added, "Cassie has a business trip next weekend.

I’ll need to go with her." "When?" "Next Friday.

Her mother asked me to accompany her to make sure she’s safe." The tightness in my throat was almost suffocating, but I forced the words out anyway. "You promised we’d go to my parents’ house next weekend.

Do you even remember what day next Saturday is?" He blinked, his mind blank as he tried to calculate the date. "Cassie’s trip is her very first major assignment for her new job.

We can visit your parents anytime, Naomi.

And we can celebrate your birthday when I get back." He poured a little warm water into my mug, his tone incredibly reasonable. "How about we celebrate your birthday a few days early?

And just ask your parents to wait a little longer." "My parents haven’t seen us in a year, Logan." "It’s fine. I’ll buy some really nice gifts to bring over when we finally go.

They’ll understand." A profound, hollow exhaustion settled deep into my bones. I didn't want to fight anymore. "Fine.

Whatever you want." Logan froze, surprised by my sudden compliance. "You’re agreeing just like that?" I offered a small, empty smile. "It doesn't matter anyway." It really didn't.

I used to scream, to cry, to demand his attention. But the result was always exactly the same.

On my birthday last year, he had stayed late to help Cassie finish a project at her apartment.

The small strawberry cake I had bought sat on the counter, melting into a sweet, sticky mess by the time he finally unlocked the door.

His only comment back then had been: "You shouldn’t eat cake so late at night, Naomi. It’s bad for your figure." Before I could say anything, a sharp wave of nausea hit me.

I bolted to the bathroom and threw up until my ribs ached. When I finally wiped my mouth and walked back out, Logan was already gone. The bedroom light was turned off.

It was always like this. He never waited for me.

I pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and sent a message to a name I hadn't written to in a long time. [I’m getting married next month.

Do you want to be the groom?] Then, I opened a travel app and booked a oneway ticket for the following week. Seven days. That should be more than enough time to pack up my life.

Since he was never going to accompany me home, I would simply go alone—and never come back. "Can you drop me off at the office today?

It’s pouring outside," I asked the next morning.

Logan was standing by the counter, carefully packing fresh, warm croissants from the bakery down the street into a brown paper bag. "Cassie’s been craving these French pastries all week.

If I don't get them to her office right now, they’ll get cold," he said, his fingers busy with the tape. He didn't even look up at me. "When will you be home?" "Not sure.

She’s still settling into her apartment, so I should probably drop by after work to see if she needs help with anything." He paused, finally looking at me. "Make sure you grab some breakfast downstairs.

That new bakery Cassie likes is really good. You should try it." His phone buzzed. He picked it up and began typing rapidly. I caught a glimpse of the screen.

Cassie’s contact name was saved with an ‘A’ in front of it, ensuring she always remained at the very top of his list.

Without another word, he grabbed his keys and rushed out the door, leaving me alone in the quiet apartment. The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the windowpane.

I zipped my coat up to my chin and grabbed the old, squeaky black umbrella from the stand by the door.

The good, sturdy one was gone; Logan had taken it to Cassie because she "liked the bright color." By midday, my stomach cramps had escalated into a sharp, burning pain.

Unable to focus, I took a sick day and returned home to rest.

But as I reached our door, the sound of muffled laughter and playful banter filtered through the wood. "It’s pouring out there!

Thank God you picked me up, Logan." "I’m completely soaked. You’re seriously the best, keeping a change of my clothes here." "Stop squirming. Your hair is still dripping.

You’re going to catch a cold if you don't dry it." I stood frozen in the hallway, my hand hovering over the handle. I had no idea what face to wear if I walked in.

Should I smile and tell them to carry on? Or should I demand to know why Cassie had a wardrobe in our shared home?

Before I could make up my mind, the door swung open from the inside. "Naomi!

What are you doing standing out here?" Cassie squeaked, her eyes wide. "Logan and I were just about to run out and grab some road trip snacks for next weekend.

You should come with us!" She was wearing my favorite oversized knit sweater.

On her feet were the matching couple’s slippers I had bought for our home. "My stomach is killing me," I said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. "Could you bring back some medicine?" Logan’s eyebrows drew together. "What’s wrong?

All of a sudden?" "Probably the spicy food from last night." "I told you that you shouldn't have gone out," Logan sighed, his tone a mix of irritation and mild concern. "Just wait inside.

I’ll text you when I buy it." I didn't reply. I walked past them into the living room and sat on the sofa. On the coffee table, the hair dryer was still warm to the touch.

Logan hadn't dried my hair in years. He always said it took too long and made his wrists ache. Two hours crawled by. My phone remained completely silent.

Unable to bear the throbbing in my abdomen any longer, I opened an app and ordered the medicine myself. The nearest pharmacy was barely two hundred yards away.

Within ten minutes, the delivery courier was knocking on the door. He looked at my pale face and the sweat beaded on my forehead. "Are you alright, ma'am?

Is there no one else here to help you?" Before I could answer, the elevator doors down the hall chimed. Logan walked out, his arms laden with grocery bags and boxes of snacks.

There was no pharmacy bag in his hands. He saw the delivery courier and blinked. "Oh, you already ordered it?

Perfect, saved me a trip down." I took the package, thanked the courier, and shut the door without saying a word.

Cassie bounded into the living room, dropping her bags and grabbing my hand. "Naomi, you have to help me yell at Logan! His photography skills are absolutely tragic.

He took a photo of me, and my face looks so weird! I just caught him taking ugly candid pictures of me on his phone." She held up Logan’s phone, scrolling through the screen.

I glanced at it. His camera roll was a dense gallery of Cassie—Cassie laughing at a cafe, Cassie walking in the park, Cassie looking at the rain.

There was barely a trace of me on his device. "Cassie wants your signature spicy garlic noodles tonight," Logan said, walking into the kitchen. "I still don't feel well," I said, my voice flat. "I can't cook tonight." Logan poured a glass of lukewarm water and handed it to me. "Come on, Naomi.

She’s been talking about your garlic noodles for weeks.

Just make it quickly, and then you can go straight to bed." Cassie stood beside me in the kitchen, casually reaching into the cabinets and pulling out the pans as if she owned the place. "Yours are just so much better, Naomi.

Logan’s cooking is practically a biohazard." My hands froze.

In our five years together, Logan had never cooked a single meal for me. "Naomi," Cassie said, leaning against the counter as the water began to boil. "You’re not mad that Logan is going on the trip with me over your birthday, right?" "No," I said.

And I meant it. I wasn't angry anymore.

Even if I were, it wouldn't change a single thing. "Cassie’s going to stay over tonight," Logan announced later that evening as he cleared the table. "I’ve already made up the guest room.

The light fixture in her apartment broke, and the landlord can't get a repairman out there until tomorrow." "Do whatever you want," I replied, looking out the window at our own porch, still swallowed by the dark.

I let out a soft, dry laugh. The next morning, I was awoken by whispered arguments from the hallway.

When I went into the bathroom to wash my face, I saw a brandnew pink toothbrush resting in the holder, pressed tightly against Logan’s. "Our neighbor saw me coming out of the building this morning and looked at me like I was some kind of homewrecker," Cassie sobbed, her voice muffled against Logan’s chest in the living room. "Logan, maybe we shouldn't hang out so much.

Is Naomi upset because you didn't go to her parents' place?" Logan gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Don't talk nonsense. Naomi and I have been together for years.

She’s not the type to get worked up over something so trivial." They caught sight of me standing at the edge of the hallway and stiffened.

Logan cleared his throat and stood up. "You’re up.

The neighborhood association just posted the final participant list for the scavenger hunt in the group chat." He looked at me expectantly. "Go into the chat and clarify things for everyone so they don't get the wrong idea." "Clarify what?" I asked. "Just tell them you willingly gave your spot to Cassie because she really wanted to go.

She’s feeling incredibly hurt by all the gossip." "Okay." I pulled out my phone and sent the message to the neighborhood group chat immediately.

But the neighbors weren't easily appeased. Within seconds, a message popped up: [The rules clearly state this event is for couples and spouses only.

What exactly are Logan and Cassie supposed to be?] Cassie’s eyes immediately welled with fresh tears. "I’m so sorry, Naomi... I didn't know.

I just wanted to win that trip with Logan.

Maybe you should go with him instead, and I’ll just watch from the sidelines." "No need," I said, my voice perfectly level. "It’s just a neighborhood game.

We can go on a trip anytime without a voucher." Hearing this, Cassie’s face instantly cleared, and she beamed. I stood there, my nails digging hard into my palms. I loved traveling.

But ever since Cassie arrived, Logan’s free time had been entirely consumed by her.

The last time we had managed to align our schedules for a vacation, we had only driven to a neighboring county for a single afternoon because he was terrified Cassie would get lonely.

No one had asked for my input, yet the decision had already been made. Logan glanced at me. "I bought breakfast. Come eat. It’s oatmeal." I looked at the cardboard cup on the table.

It was mapleflavored oatmeal, a scent that had made me nauseous since childhood. "Logan, why do you always buy the things I hate?" Cassie quickly stepped forward, grabbing my hands with an apologetic look. "I’m so sorry, Naomi!

I picked it out. I didn't know what you liked." I pulled my hands back and turned to walk back to the bedroom.

Logan’s voice followed me down the hall. "Cassie was just trying to be nice, Naomi. It’s just breakfast, no need to make a big deal out of it. I’ll get you something else next time.

By the way, there's a high school reunion dinner tonight.

Are you coming?" "No," I said. "I’m free tonight, so let's all three of us go," Logan said, completely ignoring my refusal. "Cassie wants to make some new friends in the city." I didn't argue further.

I simply nodded.

When we reached the car, Cassie naturally opened the front passenger door and climbed in. "Cassie gets carsick easily," Logan said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Go ahead and sit in the back, Naomi." When we arrived at the restaurant, Cassie immediately linked her arm through Logan’s. "Walk on my right, Logan.

It’s safer away from the street." Logan cast a brief glance back at me over his shoulder. "Watch out for the traffic, Naomi." I trailed behind them at a leisurely pace, watching them laugh and tease each other.

When the traffic light turned yellow, they hurried across, leaving me stranded on the opposite side of the intersection.

At the entrance of the restaurant, several of our old classmates recognized them and waved excitedly. "Logan!

Look at you, bringing a date!" "Are you guys wearing matching neutral tones? That is so adorable!" "You two look so happy. When’s the big day?

When are we getting wedding invitations?" The wedding I had spent six months planning was supposed to happen next month. But now, there was no longer any need for it.

Logan laughed off the comments, looking down at Cassie before casting a reassuring, placating glance in my direction. "Stop teasing, guys.

She gets embarrassed easily." He paused, then added, "We’ll be finalizing the wedding plans soon.

I’ll make sure you all get invitations." He didn't deny his relationship with Cassie. And he didn't mention my name once. At the banquet table, Cassie sat directly next to Logan.

I sat on the opposite side, facing them. Throughout the meal, Logan peeled shrimp, placing them into Cassie’s plate one by one.

Someone at the table looked across at me. "Naomi, where’s your boyfriend tonight?" "He was busy," I said smoothly. "He couldn't make it." "Oh, come on.

No matter how busy a guy is, he should make time for you. Just look at how attentive Logan is to his girl." Logan’s hands didn't falter.

He continued peeling the shrimp, his focus entirely on Cassie's plate. I laid my chopsticks down. He really was an incredibly attentive man. Just not to me.

Cassie giggled, holding a peeled shrimp up to Logan’s lips. "You eat some too, Logan." He leaned forward and took it from her fingers.

Someone at the table began to cheer. "Oh, look at you two! Get a room! Or at least give us a kiss!" Logan didn't offer any explanation. He merely offered a warm, boyish smile.

Cassie blushed, hiding her face in her hands. "Stop it, you guys are terrible!" By the time the dinner ended, Cassie was visibly tipsy.

Logan supported her with an arm wrapped around her waist as they walked out. Realizing I had left my coat on the chair, I turned back to retrieve it.

When I finally walked out to the parking lot, they were already sitting in the car.

An old classmate who was walking by noticed me getting in. "Wait, is Naomi riding with you guys too?" "We’re heading the same way," Logan replied casually.

The drive back was cramped and silent. "Cassie’s not feeling well," Logan said quietly, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "Let her lean against you so she can sleep.

You should close your eyes too.

I’ll wake you up when we get there." I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching the streetlights blur into long, yellow smears. "The day after tomorrow, Cassie and I will celebrate your birthday early," Logan continued. "Her business trip might run a bit long, so I want to make sure we do something before she leaves.

We’ll go to that upscale Italian place you’ve been wanting to try." I stared at the lock screen of my phone. The countdown timer showed only a few days left. "Okay," I murmured.

Even my own birthday had to be scheduled around Cassie's availability, Cassie's tastes, and Cassie's convenience.

Logan drove straight to Cassie’s building, seamlessly punching in the security code at her door. Inside, two pairs of matching house slippers lay neatly on the rug. I didn't ask.

He lifted Cassie into a bridal carry and bore her gently to her bed. "Logan... can you stay with me tonight?" Cassie whimpered from the pillows, clutching his sleeve.

Logan turned around, looking at me with a deeply conflicted expression. "She’s always been afraid of the dark since we were kids, Naomi.

Can I just..." I looked him dead in the eye. "Logan, do you know what tomorrow is?" He blinked, momentarily lost. "What?" "Never mind," I said. "Forget it." The night was pitchblack, and the wind was cold as I walked home alone.

For a second, fear crept in, and I pulled out my phone to call him. But my finger hovered over his name, and then I slowly locked the screen.

The next morning, 9:00 AM came and went. There was no message from Logan. I took a cab to the bridal boutique alone.

The first time we had passed this shop, Logan had literally dragged me inside by the hand.

He had stared at me, his eyes shining with absolute certainty. "Do you like it?" I had laughed and told him I did, but urged him to leave, telling him we weren't ready.

But his face had turned incredibly solemn. "It’s going to happen sooner or later, Naomi. I’m going to marry you anyway.

We might as well pick it out now before someone else steals the most beautiful bride in the world from me." Now, I was the only one standing in front of the mirrors.

The consultant looked behind me anxiously. "Ms.

West... your wedding is next month, but the groom still hasn't come in for his final fitting..." I forced a faint smile. "I’d like to look at some other styles first." I waited for exactly thirty minutes.

Logan’s figure never appeared in the doorway. I let out a soft, selfdeprecating laugh. "Actually, don't hold the dress.

Cancel the entire order, please." As I stepped out of the boutique, the sunlight felt blindingly bright.

The streets were filled with couples holding hands, laughing, sharing umbrellas. My phone rang. It was my mother. "Sweetie, the invitations are being printed today.

Is Cassie going to be your maid of honor, or do you have other bridesmaids?" I froze. "Mom, who told you Cassie was the maid of honor?" "Logan called us a couple of weeks ago," my mother said, sounding confused. "He said he had already ordered a custom dress for her and everything." The afternoon sun was warm, but a sudden, icy chill settled deep in my chest. "Mom," I said, my voice steady. "The groom isn't Logan.

Don't send invitations to him or Cassie." I hung up and sent Logan a text: [Are you free today? I have something to tell you.] I stood on the sidewalk for forty minutes.

No reply, no call. It wasn't until noon that his reply finally flashed on my screen. [Cassie’s stomach is acting up again. I’m at the clinic with her while she gets an IV.

Let’s talk another day.] I stared at the words for a long time. When my stomach was cramping, he forgot to buy the medicine.

But the moment Cassie felt a slight discomfort, he could abandon everything to sit by her hospital bed. Six months ago, he had told me he wanted to give me the wedding of my dreams.

I had spent every day since then planning, organizing, and executing every single detail alone because he was always "too busy." Suddenly, I didn't even have the energy to feel angry. [No need for another day, Logan.

Let's break up.] Within seconds, a FaceTime request flashed on my screen. When I answered, Cassie’s face appeared, pale but pleading. "Naomi, please don't be mad at Logan!

I’ll tell him to go to the bridal shop right now, I swear!" Logan’s guiltridden face appeared behind her shoulder. "I’m so sorry, Naomi. I didn't forget about the fitting.

But Cassie drank too much last night and was throwing up blood this morning.

I’ll make it up to you and go with you tomorrow, I promise." Before he could finish, Cassie let out a small gasp in the background. "Logan! The restaurant just messaged.

They said they only have a table for two available for tomorrow night!" The line fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Logan’s brow furrowed tightly.

He bit his lower lip, looking deeply conflicted. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. "Cassie, let's cancel the dinner.

Tomorrow is Naomi’s birthday, and I promised to go to the bridal shop with her. You leave for your business trip the day after.

If we don't go tomorrow, Naomi and I won't have another chance before the wedding." Cassie’s lower lip trembled, and she began to pout.

I offered a small, thin smile to the camera. "It’s fine. You two go ahead." Logan’s brow furrowed deeper. "Naomi..." Cassie quickly tugged at his sleeve. "See, Logan?

Naomi said it’s fine.

She’s not mad." Logan remained quiet for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright... then we’ll go to the bridal shop the second I get back, okay?" "Okay," I said. "I’ll call you later," Logan said, looking relieved.

The call disconnected. It had lasted less than sixty seconds. The following evening, a mutual friend sent me a screenshot of Cassie’s private Instagram feed.

It was a photo of an elegant, candlelit dinner. [My 400th meal with Logan.] In the center of the table was a beautifully decorated cake with the number '400' piped in gold icing.

They could find the time to celebrate a arbitrary number, yet my actual birthday was treated as an inconvenience to be negotiated.

I screenshotted the image and forwarded it to Logan.

Below her post, our old classmates had left dozens of comments: "You two are literally soulmates," "So sweet!" Logan replied to my text almost instantly: [Cassie is just young and childish, Naomi.

She doesn't mean anything by it.] A few minutes later, another message popped up: [Naomi, I’m so sorry. Cassie’s flight got bumped up.

I have to drive her to the airport tonight.] I replied: [Okay.] At exactly 12:05 AM, a final text arrived: [Happy birthday, Naomi.

I promise you, by the end of this year, I’m going to make you my wife.] I stared at the words.

In all the years we had been together, this was the very first time he had remembered to wish me a happy birthday so early.

He was finally promising to marry me, but I no longer wanted to be his wife.

The next morning, as the plane tore through the clouds, Logan sat in his seat, his brow furrowed in a tight knot. His thumb scrolled aimlessly over his phone screen.

I hadn't replied to his birthday message. Just before his signal vanished completely, his social media feed refreshed one last time.

An old high school friend had posted a photo of a thick, goldembossed wedding invitation. But the name of the groom printed on the card was not Logan Barrett.