Chapter 4 - The Empty Cathedral
Saturday morning arrived in Chicago with a blinding, frigid sunlight that reflected off the frosted glass of Saint James Cathedral.
At 9:15 AM, three florist vans pulled up to the front courtyard, unloading thousands of dollars worth of white garden roses, pale hydrangeas, and trailing ivy that Claire’s mother-in-law had insisted on ordering from an elite shop in Lake Forest.
Inside the groom's suite on the second floor of the parish hall, Ethan was admiring himself in the full-length mirror.
He adjusted his white silk bow tie, smoothing the lapels of his midnight-blue tuxedo. His best man, a fraternity brother and hedge fund manager named Marcus, was pouring two glasses of eighteen-year-old scotch.
"To the end of freedom, my friend," Marcus laughed, handing Ethan a glass. "Though, honestly, after seeing you and Sophia at the gala last night, half the guys were taking bets on whether you were marrying the wrong girl."
Ethan frowned, taking the glass. "Sophia is a colleague, Marcus. Claire is stable. She’s going to make a great surgeon’s wife. She doesn't demand constant attention like other women."
"Speaking of Claire," Marcus checked his watch. "It’s 9:45 AM. Shouldn't the bridesmaids be here? My wife said the bride's room downstairs is completely dark."
Ethan waved his hand dismissively. "She probably had a morning ward round at Lakeshore. I told you, she’s obsessed with her work lately. She'll be here by ten."
At 10:15 AM, the heavy oak doors of the cathedral main sanctuary began opening for the early guests.
Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, strutted down the central aisle wearing a plum-colored designer gown, her face tight with rising fury. She marched directly up the side stairs into the groom's room.
"Ethan!" Eleanor snapped, slamming the door behind her. "Where is she?"
Ethan turned from the window. "Mother, calm down. She's running late."
"Running late?!" Eleanor pulled her smartphone from her beaded purse, shoving it toward his face. "Look at this! My phone has been buzzing non-stop for twenty minutes!"
Ethan looked at the screen.
It was an automated email sent from the Saint James Administrative Portal to all two hundred registered guests:
NOTICE OF CANCELLATION: Please be advised that the marriage ceremony between Dr. Claire Bennett and Dr. Ethan Reed scheduled for Saturday, November 15th at 11:00 AM has been permanently canceled by the bride. Do not proceed to the venue.
Ethan stared at the screen. The words blurred together.
"What is this?" Ethan muttered, a strange, cold sensation blooming in his chest. "This... this is an error. A glitch in their database software."
"A glitch?!" Eleanor shrieked. "The senior pastor just walked into my dressing room and said the floral deposit was voided at midnight! The organist was sent home! Guests are standing in the courtyard right now showing each other this email!"
Ethan pulled his own phone from his pocket.
He dialed Claire’s number.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service or has been disconnected...”
He dialed again.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service...”
"What the hell is going on?" Ethan’s voice cracked, the smooth, unshakeable composure he had maintained for years suddenly splintering down the middle.
He grabbed his coat, ignoring Marcus’s calls, and practically ran down the stairs, bursting out into the sunny, freezing courtyard.
Dozens of guests in formal suits and evening dresses were standing near the stone fountain, holding their phones, whispering frantically to one another. Sophia Lane stood near the archway, wearing an ivory suit, looking thoroughly bewildered—and secretly thrilled.
"Ethan!" Sophia ran over to him, laying her hand on his chest. "Ethan, what happened? Did Claire have an emergency at the hospital?"
"I don't know," Ethan stammered, his eyes darting frantically across the crowd, searching for Claire’s pale blue car, searching for her face, searching for anything that made sense. "I'm going to the apartment."
"I'm coming with you!" Sophia insisted.
Ethan didn't wait for her. He sprinted to his Mercedes, threw his tuxedo jacket into the back seat, and slammed his foot onto the accelerator, burning rubber as he tore away from the cathedral toward Lincoln Park.
Ten minutes later, he threw open the front door of their luxury high-rise apartment.
"Claire!" he shouted, his voice echoing loudly through the hallway. "Claire, this isn't funny! If this is some sick revenge for the courthouse dates, you've gone way too far!"
Silence answered him.
He rushed into the open-plan living room.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The apartment was unnaturally spacious.
The brass floor lamps—gone. The Persian rug Claire’s grandmother had gifted her—gone. The custom walnut bookshelf containing her medical awards and their travel souvenirs—completely gone.
Ethan ran into the master bedroom.
He pulled open the walk-in closet.
His side of the closet was fully intact—his suits hanging neatly, his shoes polished on their racks.
Claire’s side of the closet was vast, vacant, and immaculate. Not a single coat hanger remained. Not a single shoe box. Not even the scent of her lavender perfume lingered in the air.
On the dark wooden vanity table where she usually kept her brushes, three items sat side by side beneath the afternoon sunlight:
The engagement ring he had bought her four years ago, resting inside its original velvet box.
The cheap duty-free jewelry bag he had given her two weeks ago, completely unopened.
A crisp white envelope with his name written on the front in her clean, precise surgical script.
Ethan walked over to the table, his knees trembling so violently he had to support himself against the edge of the vanity.
With shaking hands, he tore open the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper. No tear stains. No angry scribbles. Just three printed lines:
Ethan,
You didn't miss our wedding three times because you were busy. You missed it because I was never your priority, and you were too coward to admit it.
The lease is terminated. My license is transferred. Do not contact me again.
Dr. Claire Bennett Department of Surgery, Pacific Crest Medical Center
Ethan stared at the letter. The paper rustled loudly in his trembling hand.
"Pacific Crest..." he whispered, his throat tightening as if choked by a sudden, violent knot. "Seattle?"
His phone buzzed in his hand.
It was an emergency text notification from the Lakeshore Hospital Administrative Board:
ALERT: Dr. Claire Bennett has formally resigned her position as Senior Attending Surgeon, effective immediately. All surgical rotations for Dr. Bennett have been re-assigned to Department Chair Dr. Malcolm Pierce.
May you like
Ethan dropped the phone onto the floor. It clattered against the hardwood, the glass screen shattering into a spiderweb of fine cracks.
He fell back onto the bare mattress, looking up at the empty ceiling, surrounded by the crushing, suffocating silence of an apartment that was no longer a home.
