Happily Ever Never Novel – I burst into the door to find my fiancé’s ex-girlfriend getting dressed, laughing and my fiancé was sitting on our bed, head down sobbing. There was my fiancé. His bare legs hung off the side of the bed and his bare chest heaved with each sob. A used protection at his feet. A woman—undressed— sat behind him. Unlike me, she hadn’t bothered to cover her chest. Her red fingernails toyed with the strands and she stared back at me. “Shannon?” I asked with both accusations and confusion. My voice ticked louder, and I screamed at him. “You’re having intercourse with Shannon?” “You,” I pointed at her. “Get out of my house.” “Work faster bimbo, because if you’re not dressed and gone in three seconds, I will shove that used protection down your throat and drag you by your hair down the stairs and throw your bare hip out the front door.” I screamed it over and over. I didn’t know what else to say. There were no words. There was nothing I could say or hear that would undo what had just been done.
“Hi, Janna Hargrove, I’m here for my fitting.” The attendant ushered me back to the fitting room. My phone rang in my pocket. It was Rachel. I nearly dropped the phone. “Hello?” I answered cautiously, terrified she’d butt-dialed me. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “Janna, I am so sorry. I’ve been such a bimbo and I miss you too.” “Technically, you haven’t talked to me in over a month, so you haven’t had a chance to be a bimbo,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Is it too late?” she asked. “Too late?” “To meet you for your appointment?” “Um,” I paused as the saleswoman came into the dressing room. “I think so.” “Oh,” she mumbled. “I am so sorry I am not there for you.” “Lunch after?” I suggested. “Puffy Muffin in Brentwood? We can have cookies the size of our face instead of real food.” She laughed. “Yes! Call me when you’re done, and I’ll meet you there.” “Thank you,” I said and fought back the tears. “We have so much to catch up on.” “Janna,” she said. “We do need to talk.” “Of course! I’ll call you in a few.” I hung up and followed the young woman into the dressing room. She handed me the dress and instructed me to get changed and call her if I needed help.
She’d be right outside the room. I unzipped the bag and studied the dress. Gingerly, I ran my fingers along the material, the cool, smoothness feeling familiar. Then, I pulled it out of the bag and inspected the seams. Perfection. There wasn’t even a hint that they had done alterations. I pulled off my boots, jeans, and sweater and tossed them in the corner. I tried to get the dress on without help, but gave up and called the saleswoman back in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?” I said when she walked in. “Anne,” she said and then helped me slip the dress over my head, careful to not pull too hard. It had gone on a little easier when it was a size four before the alterations. But as soon as we got the dress on, it fell just right. “Do you have your shoes?” Anne asked. “My shoes?” I repeated. My shoes. “No.” My shoes were still in the bag from Atlanta. In my closet. At home. “Oh, didn’t they tell you to bring them?” she asked, sounding annoyed.
“Yes, they did, I just forgot,” I said and shook my head at myself. “Do you know how tall the heel is?” “Three inches, I think. The platform is like maybe half an inch?” “We have some afternoon appointments if you want to reschedule,” she suggested. “We could try it on with other shoes, but we prefer you have your own.” “Actually, yes, that would be perfect,” I answered, realizing this would allow Rachel to make it. I could run home, grab my shoes and then go pick up Rachel. “One?” she asked. “Yes.” I smiled. “Thank you, I cannot believe I forgot them. I was in such a rush to get out the door on time.” “It’s okay, it happens all the time,” she shrugged. She helped me out of the dress and carefully put it back in the bag. I got dressed and went back to the car to call Rachel. She was ecstatic when I told her the fitting was moving. It was just after ten when I got back to my car.
“So, I’ll run home and grab my shoes. Then I’ll come over and we can talk before the fitting? Lunch after?” “Sounds perfect, see you soon!” We hung up and I started the car. On the drive home, I listened to the reception playlist Ryan and I had been working on. We’d tried to find the perfect balance of his music and mine and popular, wedding songs. We put together almost three hours of music. As the songs transitioned from mine to his and back again, I realized how well they all played together. It was the perfect balance. Just like us. There were more cars than normal parked on the street, including a red BMW I did not recognize parked in front of our mailbox. Must be a college football game on, I thought. A packed street was a common sign this time of the year, especially in SEC country. I pulled my car into the garage and grabbed my purse.
I hoped Ryan was already out of bed and showered. If he was still lounging, there was a good chance he’d convince me to work in one more round of trying. The thought alone wore me out. I opened the door into the kitchen and the sound of music filled my ears. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. I didn’t recognize it at first, but the familiar chords of “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton made me smile. He must be listening to the wedding mix too. My guess was he was in the room doing laundry. The only time he ever had music playing in the house was when he was cleaning or doing chores. I threw my purse on the counter and kicked my boots into the living room, I’ll get them later, I thought. My shoes were in the closet, so I made my way to the stairs. I noted a small pile of clothes on the first step. Definitely doing laundry, I thought. He could never just carry the basket up or down the stairs, instead, he’d just throw his clothes down and collect the at the bottom. I rolled my eyes. I’d always thought he’d save so much time and energy if he’d just carry the basket.
Our bedroom door was closed, which was odd. We never closed our door, even at night. But, what struck me was the sound of his voice on the other side of the door. He was whispering, but urgently. Maybe Rachel had called him, I thought. I reached for the handle but stopped. I thought about my prior declaration that I wasn’t in the mood for round four and changed my mind. In the hallway, I unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied them down my legs. Then I slipped my sweater over my head. I tiptoed into the spare bathroom and checked my hair. Flipping my head over, I tousled the curls to give them an 80s rock video vibe. Then, I slipped my hand into my bra and adjusted my breasts, so they overfilled the cups. Perfect. I tiptoed back to the bedroom door and turned the knob. I stuck my leg through first, then slowly pushed the door open. “Surprise!” I whispered in my best Sophia Loren voice. My head was still down, but I reach behind my back and unfastened my bra. “Janna!” Ryan shrieked. But not my hot fiancée just walked in undressed way.
It was more of a what are you doing shriek. “Hey baby,” I said and flipped my hair as I looked at him. My hands flew to cover my breasts and I backed towards the door, trying to escape into the hallway. But, in my attempt to appear hot and domineering, I’d slammed the door shut. I backed right into it, the doorknob dug into my back. With nowhere to go, I just stared. There was my fiancé. Sitting on our bed. His head buried in his hands. I could see his shoulders shaking and what sounded like sobs coming from behind his hands. His bare legs hung off the side of the bed and his bare chest heaved with each sob. A used protection at his feet. A woman—undressed, of course— sat behind him. Unlike me, she hadn’t bothered to cover her breasts. I recognized the overfilled roundness of implants. The same look my mother had often pressured me to achieve. Her skin perfectly tanned, but there wasn’t a tan line in sight. The only cover on her skin was her long, brown hair that fell around her shoulders. Her red fingernails toyed with the strands and she stared back at me.
“Shannon?” I asked with both accusations and confusion. My voice ticked louder, and I screamed at him. “Shannon. You’re having intercourse with Shannon?” My screams echoed off our walls and I came to my senses. I grabbed my bra from the floor, turned around, opened the door and ran into the hallway. I gathered my clothes and ran down the stairs. No, this is my house. I threw my clothes on top of the pile at the bottom of the stairs and ran back up them. I didn’t bother to put my bra on, instead, I grabbed a robe from the bathroom. I burst back through the door to find Shannon getting dressed, laughing. Ryan was still sitting on the bed, head down sobbing. The used protection still at his feet. A disgusting reminder of what I’d almost walked into. “You,” I pointed at her. “Get out of my house.” “Working on it,” she muttered.
“Work faster bimbo, because if you’re not dressed and gone in three seconds, I will shove that used protection down your throat and drag you by your hair down the stairs and throw your bare hip out the front door.” She took the hint, gathered her clothes and ran out the door. “Call you later?” She said to Ryan with a laugh. “She seems uptight, no wonder you needed me.” “OUT!” I screamed. She didn’t hesitate. As soon as I heard the front door shut, my stomach lurched with my first sob. I felt the bile rise and ran into the bathroom. I threw up and then collapsed on the floor. The sobs shook my entire body and it felt as though each one ripped out another piece of me.
I felt empty. A giant hole formed somewhere in the pit of my stomach. What just happened? My mind replayed the scene again and again and again until I lurched to the toilet just in time to throw up again. “Janna?” Ryan whispered into the bathroom. “How could you?” I screamed between the puking. I screamed it over and over. I didn’t know what else to say. There were no words. There was nothing I could say or hear that would undo what had just been done.