Walk Away I'm Done Being Your Second Choice

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license at City Hall, a rare blizzard hit the city.

My fiancé, Julian, sent me a text.

"There’s a massive pileup on the highway. I’m completely stuck. We won't make it to City Hall today. I'm so sorry, babe."

My hands and feet were ice-cold as I rode the subway back home alone.

I wanted to order him some hot food, but the moment I opened his delivery app, an order from ten minutes ago caught my eye.

The drop-off address was a private hospital downtown. The delivery note read: