Dahlia's POV
I stand in the doorway of what used to be our bedroom, staring at the half-empty closet. The hangers look so bare now, like a skeleton stripped of flesh. Most of my clothes are already packed, but I need to get the rest of my things before Cobb comes back.
The apartment feels different without my belongings scattered around. Colder. More like the sterile bachelor pad it was when I first moved in.
I fold another sweater into my suitcase, remembering the day I bought it. Cobb had been with me, complaining about how long I was taking. Even shopping together had become another chore for him to endure.
What a joke.
My phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. Mom's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach twists. I've been avoiding her calls since the breakup, not ready to explain why her dream of walking me down the aisle isn't going to happen.
"Hi, Mom."
"Dahlia, sweetheart!" Her voice is bright with excitement. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Gomez from the flower shop. She says the peonies you wanted might not be in season for the wedding, but she can get some beautiful roses instead. What do you think?"
I close my eyes. Of course she's calling about wedding flowers.
"Mom, we need to talk."
"Oh, is this about the dress? Because I spoke to your Aunt Taryn, and she thinks we should go with a shorter train. Something more practical for the church steps."
"It's not about the dress."
"Then what, honey? You sound strange."
I sit down on the edge of the bed, gripping the phone tighter. "Cobb and I... we're not together anymore."
The silence stretches so long I wonder if the call dropped.
"Mom?"
"You're not together." Her voice is barely a whisper.
"No. It's over."
"But the wedding is just around the corner. The church is booked. The caterer..."
"I know. I'm sorry about the arrangements, but this is for the best."
"For the best?" Her voice cracks. "Dahlia, what happened? Did you two have a fight? These things can be worked out."
"It wasn't a fight, Mom. We just... weren't right for each other."
"Not right?" Now she sounds panicked. "But Cobb is such a good man. He's been part of our family for so long."
Her words hit like a slap. Part of our family. Cobb, who couldn't be bothered to visit Mom in the hospital more than once in the past six months.
"Mom, please try to understand—"
"Understand what? That you're throwing away the best thing that ever happened to you?"
I want to laugh, but it would come out bitter. Cobb, the man who couldn't commit to getting a marriage license after all these years, is somehow a catch.
"He's not the right man for me."
"How can you say that? He loves you!"
The words hang in the air, and I realize I can't tell her the truth. I can't explain about Ivana, about the years of being second choice, about the identical bracelet that shattered my last illusions. It would break her heart to know how little Cobb actually valued me.
"Sometimes things just don't work out," I say carefully.
"That's ridiculous. You don't just throw away years of your life because things get difficult."
I'm about to respond when I hear a strange sound through the phone. A gasp, followed by a crash.
"Mom? Mom, are you okay?"
No answer. The line is still connected, but all I hear is silence.
"Mom!"
Panic floods my system. I switch to video call, and after several rings, it connects. The camera shows the ceiling of Mom's living room. I can see her legs on the floor, not moving.
"Oh god. Mom!"
My hands shake as I call my aunt Taryn on another phone.
"Taryn, something's wrong with Mom. She just collapsed during our call. I can see her on video, but she's not responding."
"I'm on my way. Keep her on the line."
I watch helplessly as Taryn appears on the video feed, kneeling beside Mom. She checks her pulse, then disappears from frame. I hear cabinets opening, bottles rattling.
"Her heart medication," Taryn says, coming back into view. "She missed her afternoon dose."
She helps Mom sit up and gives her a small white pill. After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, Mom's eyes flutter open.
"Dahlia?"
"I'm here, Mom. Taryn's with you. You're going to be okay."
But I'm not sure I believe it. Mom looks so pale, so fragile. The timing can't be a coincidence.
"We need to get her to the hospital," Taryn says. "Just as a precaution."
I nod, even though they can't see me. "I'm coming up there."
"No," Mom says weakly. "Stay where you are. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You just had a heart episode."
"I'm just... overwhelmed." Her voice is barely audible. "This news about you and Cobb..."
The guilt hits me like a physical blow. The stress of my decision affected her health.
Taryn helps Mom to her feet. "We'll call you from the hospital."
The call ends, leaving me staring at a black screen. I sink onto the bed, my whole body shaking.
I'm still sitting there, paralyzed by worry, when I hear angry footsteps in the hallway, followed by the sound of a key being jammed into the lock with unnecessary force.
Cobb bursts through the door, his face flushed with anger. He's wearing a dark suit - the same one he planned to wear to get our marriage license.
"What the hell, Dahlia?" His voice is sharp with fury. "We had an appointment today. I waited at the courthouse for over an hour."
I look up at him, still reeling from Mom's collapse. "Cobb—"
"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? The clerk kept asking if my fiancée was coming. I had to make excuses while looking like a complete fool."
His anger fills the room like toxic smoke. This is Cobb at his worst - selfish, entitled, completely focused on his own humiliation.
"I told you we were over. I'm not your fiancée anymore."
"Over?" He laughs bitterly. "You don't get to just decide that unilaterally. We have a life together, Dahlia. Six years doesn't just disappear because you're having some kind of crisis."
"This isn't a crisis. This is me finally seeing clearly."
"Seeing what clearly? That you're too good for me? That you deserve better than someone who's loved you for six years?"
The word 'loved' hits wrong. If this is how Cobb shows love, I want no part of it.
"You don't love me, Cobb. You keep me around because I'm convenient."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
"Is it? When's the last time you chose me over Ivana? When's the last time you put our relationship first?"
Cobb's jaw clenches. "Don't bring her into this. She has nothing to do with us."
"She has everything to do with us! She's the reason we're here."
"You're being paranoid and jealous, just like always."
I stand up, anger cutting through my worry about Mom. "I'm being realistic. And I'm done."
Cobb stares at me for a moment, then his expression shifts to something calculating.
"Your mother called me," he lies smoothly. "Before I came here. She sounded upset."
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"She's worried about you. About this sudden decision to destroy your future."
"My mother wouldn't call you."
"Wouldn't she? She's always liked me, Dahlia. She knows I'm good for you, even when you can't see it yourself."
I feel a flicker of doubt. Mom always did have a soft spot for Cobb.
"She didn't call you," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
Cobb moves closer, sensing weakness. "She did. And she asked me to talk sense into you before you do something you'll regret for the rest of your life."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He pulls out his phone. "Should I call her back? Put her on speaker so you can hear how worried she is about you throwing away the best relationship you'll ever have?"
Fear grips me. What if he's telling the truth? What if Mom is so upset about the breakup that she reached out to Cobb? What if the stress really is making her sicker?
"She just had a heart episode," I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Cobb's eyes sharpen with interest. "What?"
"Nothing. It's nothing."
"Dahlia, what happened to your mother?"
I shouldn't tell him. I know I shouldn't. But the words tumble out anyway.
"She collapsed when I told her about us. Had to be taken to the hospital."
Cobb's expression immediately shifts to concerned and gentle - the mask he wears when he wants something.
"Oh god, Dahlia. Is she okay?"
"She's stable. But the stress..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
"The stress of you ending our engagement caused her to have a heart attack." He says it like he's putting pieces together, but I can see the satisfaction in his eyes.
"It's not that simple—"
"Isn't it?" Cobb sits beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. "Your mother has been looking forward to our wedding for months. She's been planning, shopping, telling all her friends. And then suddenly you decide to destroy all of that."
"I didn't decide anything suddenly. This has been building for—"
"For what? A few bad days? Some imaginary slight involving Ivana?"
He reaches for my hand, and this time I don't have the energy to pull away.
"Dahlia, think about what you're doing. Think about what this is costing. Your mother is in the hospital because the woman she raised, the daughter she loves, decided to throw away her future over nothing."
Each word lands like a dart finding its target. The guilt I've been fighting crashes over me in waves.
"It's not over nothing," I say weakly.
"Then what? What terrible thing have I done that's worth putting your mother in the hospital?"
I can't answer. Because how do I explain the bracelet, the constant prioritizing of Ivana, the years of feeling like a third wheel in my own relationship? How do I make him understand that death by a thousand cuts is still death?
"We can fix this," Cobb says softly. "We can still get married. Today, even. Think about how happy that would make your mother. Think about how relieved she'd be to know you're taken care of."
My phone buzzes with a text from Taryn: "At hospital. Mom stable but very worried about you. Keeps asking if you're going to be okay on your own."
Cobb reads over my shoulder. "See? She's worried about you. About your future. About who's going to take care of you when she's gone."
The last part hits like a physical blow. When she's gone. Mom's illness, her fragility, the very real possibility that I might lose her soon.
"I can take care of myself," I whisper, but the words lack conviction.
"Can you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like every time you try to stand on your own, someone gets hurt."
I close my eyes, feeling trapped between my own needs and my mother's health. Maybe Cobb is right. Maybe I am being selfish. Maybe wanting more than scraps of affection is too much to ask.
"The courthouse is still open," Cobb says gently. "We could call your mother from there. Tell her everything's okay. That we worked it out."
I'm wavering, I can feel it. The guilt, the fear, the overwhelming responsibility I feel for my mother's wellbeing - it's all crashing down on me.
"I don't know..."
"You don't have to know everything. You just have to trust that I want what's best for both of us."
Cobb stands up, extending his hand to me. "Come on. Let's go fix this."
I'm reaching for his hand, my resolve crumbling under the weight of my mother's needs, when there's a soft knock at the door.
Cobb freezes. We both know that knock - tentative, almost apologetic.
Ivana.