My Stepbrother's Baby

It was my wedding. Mine. The day I had dreamed of, prayed for, counted down to with anticipation and dread alike. My wedding. Yet where was my husband?

I stood at the altar, the center of a carefully constructed world of roses, lace, and polished glass, but the groom’s side remained empty. I had been there for hours—first with confidence, then with stubbornness, and finally with something close to desperation—while Simon, my husband-to-be, was nowhere to be found.

Mrs. Alicia, my mother-in-law, had excused herself time and again. Each time her heels clicked against the marble floor as she hurried outside. And each time, she returned without him. My heart sank deeper into itself with each failure, but still, the smile on my face remained. It gleamed with a brilliance to rival the sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows.

I had painted myself into this picture. The gown clung to me in delicate folds of satin, the veil shimmered when it caught the light, and my face bore the practiced expression of a bride ready to begin her happily-ever-after. I refused to let anything ruin it. Not his absence, not the pain slicing through my calves from the six-inch heels, not the whispers rippling through the crowd.

The whispers, though—they grew. At first, they were small murmurs, contained, the kind that could still be explained away as harmless curiosity. But as minutes bled into hours, their grimaces turned into bold glances, and the whispers became undeniable conversations.

The only thing keeping the guests in their seats was the name they had come to witness bound to mine. Simon Valero.

I dared a glance toward where my parents sat, dressed in their finest. Their smiles looked unbothered, as if none of this chaos mattered. Their calmness should have reassured me, but instead, bile rose in my throat. My stomach churned violently, and my smile faltered for the briefest moment.

It returned, plastered and unyielding. Because I knew this was the last time I would see them—the last time I would feel that creeping unworthiness that always came with meeting their eyes. After today, I would no longer be a burden.

Another click of heels broke through the suffocating air. Alicia again. She left her place in the front row, phone clutched like a lifeline, her forehead creased with lines of worry etched so deeply they might never leave her face.

And my heart ached—not for myself, not for the embarrassment burning my cheeks under the scrutiny of guests, not for the heels threatening to shatter my bones—but for her.

Sweet Alicia. She who had shown me more tenderness in months than my own parents had in years. She who believed in this union so fiercely it was as though she wanted it more than I did. But it was her son—the one she loved and defended—who was the problem.

Simon. The man I was meant to promise forever to. The man who had treated me like a ghost from the very first moment we met. I remembered it vividly: the way his eyes slid past me as if I weren’t worth a second look. And yet here I stood, bound to him by expectation, by family, by a mother’s hope that her son only needed “time.”

The doors of the church finally groaned open.

And there he was.

Simon Valero.

He strolled in without urgency, as though he hadn’t kept us waiting for three hours. As though he hadn’t abandoned me to whispers, humiliation, and silence. Yet the effect was immediate. Guests who had shifted uncomfortably in their seats straightened with reverence. Grimaces dissolved into awe, whispers into approving murmurs.

He commanded the room, and I, too, could not look away.

Even with the frown shadowing his lips, there was something about him—an air, a presence—that made my breath hitch. My eyes traced the sharp cut of his jaw, the cold fire in his gaze, and I found myself wondering. Wondering how he might look if those lips curved into a smile, if laughter softened the stone of his face, if warmth sparked in eyes that seemed built to freeze.

But I was left to wonder. He offered me no such gift. Only the frown. Only the distance.

And still, my heart leapt. Still, I clung to the hope of the man Alicia spoke of, the cheerful soul hidden beneath the ice. I told myself time would reveal him to me, peel back his walls, and one day he would be mine in truth.

The priest beckoned us forward, and the vows were read. I bound myself to him in words I meant with every fiber of my being, promising him all of me until death itself divided us.

Simon’s voice followed, but it held no tenderness. He spoke the vows like a verdict, each word clipped, final, like shackles being locked.

Still, my excitement only grew.

The priest’s words rang out: “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

My joy bubbled over, unstoppable, and I turned to him eagerly. Our lips met in what should have been the sealing of our union—but the kiss was fleeting, perfunctory, and he pulled away almost instantly, grimacing as though the touch itself had burned him.

And yet—even that brief brush of his lips filled me with anticipation for the night to come.

We walked down the aisle together, hand in hand. Cameras flashed, guests applauded, and for a moment, I felt it. The warmth of belonging at his side, the way our hands fit together perfectly. The illusion of a future worth holding onto.

But the illusion shattered as soon as we stepped outside.

Before I could say a word, Simon slipped his hand from mine, slid into his sleek car, and drove away—leaving me standing there, a bride abandoned. My hand, still tingling from his touch, dropped limp at my side, heavy and cold.

And once again, it was Alicia who saved me. She appeared at my side, her voice calm, commanding, as she instructed her driver to take me to my new home. She saved my face, shielded me from scandal, as she always did.

The ride blurred by in a haze of nerves and stubborn optimism. I still wore the gown, the veil, the smile I refused to let die. My heart raced with the hope that once I reached him, he would finally let me in. That behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, I would see the softer side his mother promised.

I rushed through the halls of the Valero estate, still breathless, still carrying that fragile hope. I reached his room, hand trembling as I pushed open the door—

Only to be shoved back.

Simon’s face was hard, his eyes unforgiving as he told me never to step foot in his room again. His voice was ice, his touch a push that sent me reeling.

Then he called for the maids.

And just like that, my husband—the man I had just promised myself to forever—walked away. Leaving me in their hands. Leaving me confused, unwanted, and above all, utterly alone.