I’ve been discreetly learning French to surprise my fiancé with wedding vows in his language. Last night, my fiancé’s mom called and they spoke French while I lay awake with my eyes closed. Hearing him say, “Listen carefully, Mom,” nearly stopped my heart.
What I’ll do…
Holding my breath, I tried to catch every word. He paced the room with his phone to his ear, unaware I was awake. Although my French wasn’t excellent, I could understand some.
He mentioned “plans,” “telling her soon,” and “before she finds out.” My stomach twisted. At first, I believed I was misinterpreting. He may have planned a surprise for me.
An early honeymoon? A family gift? I held onto hope.
But as he spoke, his voice lowered, I heard “pas pour toujours,” meaning “not forever.”
My eyes burned from trying not to cry as I lay still. Possible second-guessing of our future? I stayed up that night.
I glanced toward the ceiling, trying to understand what I heard. It was likely nothing. Maybe I was paranoid.
The seed expanded quickly after planting. I was normal the next morning. He got coffee.
Kissed his cheek. Saw his every move while pretending to scroll on my phone. He seemed OK.
Like nothing was off. As usual, he smiled and called me mon coeur. But I couldn’t let go.
I did what I never thought I would. I rang his mother. I hesitantly replied in French to her kind greeting.
I inquired whether she was okay and if she and her son had discussed anything meaningful recently. A pause. She spoke English gently and continued, “I think maybe he should tell you himself.
Not what you think. “He loves you.”
My heart fell. That confirmed a situation.
I focused more that week. I saw him change his phone passcode one day, take more private calls, and erase messages. My stomach screamed.
I avoided confrontation. I kept studying French. Buried myself.
I wanted all the details if things went wrong. Not parts and pieces. I wanted full comprehension.
Three weeks before our wedding, friends and I had supper. Before I excused myself to visit the restroom, everything seemed OK. Oops, left my phone on the table.
He was scrolling when I returned. Who’s Luc? He inquired, his tone light but harsh.
Luc taught me French. He looked skeptical as I explained fast. That night, he scarcely touched me in bed.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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