Chapter 2: Brian’s Arrival and the Breaking Point

A man strode in, all in white, hair gelled, cologne announcing him before he spoke. His shoes clicked across the floor. He looked like he belonged at the Grammys, not a Toledo Holiday Inn. He blocked the doorway, his glare daring me to move.

Someone behind me yelled, “Brian, don’t let this guy leave!” The pressure closed in. I felt like the main event in a wrestling match, everyone picking sides.

I tried to slide past, but Brian stretched out his arm, blocking me. His hand was heavy, his grip iron-strong. He was bigger than I remembered from Shannon’s old Facebook group shots—always grinning, always in the middle of the action.

“Who are you?” he demanded, voice deep enough to cut through the chatter.

I didn’t answer. Someone behind me shouted, “That’s Shannon’s husband! As soon as he heard you were coming, he tried to bolt. Ha!”

Another voice jeered, “Guess he’s scared of the real man in the room.”

Brian looked me up and down, stepping closer, smirking. I felt small in my wrinkled button-down and Target jeans. “So you’re Shannon’s husband?”

“Please move. There’s been a heart attack at home. I need to get back—my mom’s life is at stake.” My voice cracked. The stink of cheap beer and sweat filled the air behind me.

I tried to push past, but Brian shoved me back toward the center of the room. My shoulder banged into a table, plastic cups rattling. Brian barely blinked.

“Shannon, I’m late, but looks like I arrived just in time,” he said, not even looking at me. He flashed her a grin, running a hand through his hair. A few women giggled.

I looked at my wife. She actually looked shy, lowering her head. “It’s fine,” she whispered, twisting her purse strap, eyes darting anywhere but at me.

Brian stepped in close, his voice smug. “Anything you want to say to me?”

He loomed, making it clear he was in charge. My blood boiled.

“No. I just got a call from home—my mom had a heart attack. The hospital said ambulances are all out. We need to drive her ourselves—”

I was practically begging, the words tripping over each other.

Brian snorted. “Unbelievable. Your family sure knows how to pick a moment for a heart attack.” He delivered it like a punchline, and the crowd erupted in laughter.

The woman with the phone in her shirt added, “Yeah, every time you show up, his mom suddenly has a heart attack!”

Someone else cackled, “Next time Brian sneezes, his mom’ll break a hip!”

I clenched my fists, ready to lose it, but Brian raised a hand, silencing me. “Enough! You don’t get to talk!” he barked. “Don’t go yet. I have something to show you.”

He squared his shoulders, clearly about to put on a show for the crowd.

I didn’t care about being polite anymore. I shoved him aside and sprinted for the door. My shoes squeaked on the wood. I didn’t care if I looked desperate—I just needed out.

But when I yanked it open, I froze. Two security guards in black shirts labeled "Event Security" stood outside, arms folded, faces blank. My hands went numb. For a second, I forgot where I was. My chest tightened with panic.

“Lock the door. No one in or out,” Brian ordered. One guard turned the deadbolt with a loud click.

“Shannon!” I pointed at her, furious. “A life is on the line. What are you trying to do?” My voice cracked, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

She shot back, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears, mascara trembling on her lashes. “What am I trying to do? For once, I want to be myself.” She tried to collect herself, dabbing at her mascara, searching for a way out—staring at her reflection in a spoon, lips trembling. “I’ve been married to you for almost two years. Tell me honestly—haven’t I been a good wife? But what have I gotten in return?”

The room held its breath. The DJ turned the music way down. For a moment, it was just the low hum of the old HVAC and everyone waiting.

We’d dated for three years, married for two. I remembered slow-dancing in our old living room to Springsteen, her head on my chest, the world shut out. Five years—where did they go?

Seeing my silence, Shannon grew more agitated. “Logan, answer me. Am I materialistic? Have I ever begged for the latest iPhone or designer bags? My youth, my life—I gave it to this marriage, to you. But do you even know what I really want? No, because you never cared. Logan, tonight I’m saying it all. If I could do it over, I’d say to hell with marriage, to hell with family.”

She swiped at her cheeks. Some women murmured, “Amen,” and “Speak your truth.” I felt like a defendant in a trial I never saw coming.

I wanted to yell that I’d loved her, that I’d tried—God, I’d tried. But the words stuck in my throat. I remembered the six-hour drives to bring her soup when she was sick, the little gifts she’d smile at even if she’d never asked for them. Maybe I’d failed her. Maybe I’d failed myself.

Her parents had always told her to get a job, even a temp gig downtown, but she just laughed it off. I thought my willingness to indulge her made her happy. Maybe it just made things worse.

My silence gave her confidence. She looked around. “You’ll all protect me, right?” The women nodded, arms around her. Only a short girl off to the side—Sarah, I think—looked uncertain, biting her lip. She finally spoke up, “Guys, maybe we should chill. This is getting out of hand.”

No one listened. The crowd surged forward, egged on by Brian.

Brian’s voice cut through the air, slick as a campaign speech. “How could someone like him tarnish the title of ‘mother’? Shannon, you’re a good woman. If I were you, I’d never put up with this.”

She sniffled, lips trembling, soaking up the sympathy. “Thank you. Maybe I’m just too soft.”

Brian leaned in, his tone low. “You deserve a better man.”

A chorus of “mm-hmm”s and a few mock-hums of The Bachelorette theme followed. Shannon covered her face and cried, shoulders shaking. Sarah pressed a tissue into her hand.

I snapped, “What is this, an audition for The Bachelor?” Sarcasm slipped out. Some people gasped, others grinned.

She looked up, shocked. “How could you say that?”

“What else can I say? The title of ‘mother’ is so noble, but isn’t a mother’s life just as precious? The golden window for a heart attack is two hours. You’ve wasted thirty minutes already. It takes twenty minutes to get home, another twenty to the hospital. Keep this up, and your amazing mother will be gone.”

My hands trembled. My reflection in the window looked wild, red-eyed. I barely recognized myself.

Shannon actually laughed—a sharp, brittle sound. “Logan, your precious mom is dying, right? You want to be a hero? Fine. Prove your love for me, and I’ll let you go. I’ll still be your good wife.” She wiped her eyes, voice turning hard. “Friends, how should he prove it?”

The crowd closed in, ideas flying fast—like kids daring each other at a slumber party. “Karaoke to Britney Spears in front of everyone!” “Do a TikTok dance live!” “Give Shannon a piggyback ride around the room!”

Someone banged the table, howling. Sarah looked sick.

The dares got wilder. “Chug this bottle of wine—after Shannon spits in it!” “Strip down and sing for us!”

It felt like a frat hazing gone wrong, the reunion now a contest of humiliation for Shannon’s amusement. Phones flashed, someone recording for TikTok.

Shannon soaked it up, center of attention. “Shannon, we’ve given you ideas. You decide.”

She looked at me, chin up. “You pick.”

I stared at the mess—crushed fruit, spilled wine, a pile of jackets. My chest hurt. I could barely breathe.

Seeing my hesitation, she sat on the sofa, stretched out a foot. “If you won’t choose, I’ll choose for you.” She crossed her legs, heel dangling, smirk in place.

Two guys shoved me in front of her. Their hands were rough. I stumbled, catching myself on the armrest.

“Sing Britney Spears—‘Toxic’—karaoke, right now. That’ll prove you love me.”

Her friends giggled, phones out. “Are you insane?” My voice trembled. My pride was slipping away.

“Don’t want to?” She arched her brow. She was daring me to refuse.

“Shannon, do you know what you’re doing? Do you even know what time it is?”

I glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. Every minute was another nail in the coffin.

“No more talking. Just say if you’ll do it or not.” Her arms were folded, her face stone cold.

“You really are crazy.” No one disagreed.

It wasn’t like I didn’t know Shannon always wanted to be the center of attention—ever since her Sweet Sixteen, when she wore that tiara and made everyone sing to her. Because of work, I’d traveled all over the country researching amusement parks, missing anniversaries and birthdays to keep us afloat. That’s where I met her—pink swimsuit, laughing on a raft, Texas sun blazing. I lost my head for her, just like that.

She had a temper, sulked for days if I forgot her favorite snack. I always went back for it. Maybe I let her get away with too much, always playing the prince so she could play the queen.

Now, she was throwing me under the bus for the crowd. I could see it—the way she craved attention, not just from me, but from everyone.

Was this the person I wanted to spend my life with? The question echoed louder than the music.

Suddenly, my phone screen flickered—a tiny blue light in the corner. Hope surged through me. I pressed every button, shaking it. The screen glitched, flickered, then showed a sliver of life—enough for a dozen missed calls and an SOS text from Dad.

My hands shook. “Come here. See what Dad said.” I held out the phone, my voice pleading.

Shannon stormed over, snatched the phone, and hurled it at me. It bounced off my shoulder and slid under the buffet table. My hands went numb. For a second, I forgot where I was.

“What are you pretending for? What’s there to see?”

The phone that had just come back to life went dark again. I scrambled under the table, thumb aching from hitting the power button. Nothing.

“Turn on your phone and see what you’ve done.” I tossed it onto the table, shattered glass glinting.

She laughed, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Logan, do I have to do whatever you say? You just want to humiliate me in front of everyone?”

My voice was steady, but inside, I was breaking. “Turn it on. If I’m lying, I’ll do every dare they just said.”

Sarah whispered, “Shannon, maybe you should check. It’s a matter of life and death. Better safe than sorry...”

Shannon took her phone back, pointing at me. “Fine, I’ll turn it on. Remember what you said.” She pressed the power button. Everyone leaned in, waiting for the truth—or a new excuse.

I let out a shaky breath, praying for a miracle.

Brian stepped up, gently taking her phone. “No one can force you to do anything—not even yourself.” He placed it in the corner mini-fridge, locking the door and hanging the key from his chain.

“Brian...” Her anger faded, her voice softening.

He knelt, the crowd parting. He pulled a white lily from his sleeve—perfect, like it belonged in a wedding bouquet. “Shannon, on your birthday in school, you wanted a lily. I couldn’t afford one. But now I realize—it wasn’t luck that you forgave me. You’re just that good.”

Shannon stared, dazed, transported back to seventeen.

“Shannon, before graduation you said you’d wait for me to marry you. It tore me up. I lost thirty pounds, didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. That’s when I decided: I’d work hard, make something of myself, and come back for you.”

He gestured to the disco ball overhead, the DJ giving a thumbs-up. “This whole karaoke lounge is mine now. I finally came back.”

Shannon burst into sobs, hiding her face. Her friends crowded around her. Brian watched, longing etched on his face.

I tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a groan. The absurdity made me want to scream. But those tears should’ve been for the hospital.

“Brian, I’m already married. Why bother?” she asked, voice cracking.

“Shannon, I just wanted you to know—I never forgot what you said, and I did it.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. The women let out a collective “aww.”

“Brian, it’s too late.”

He grinned. “The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago. The second best is now.”

“Brian.”

“Shannon.”

“Brian.”

“Shannon.”

“Brian—”

“Enough!” I shouted. The word bounced off the walls. Everyone turned, startled.

Sarah bit her lip, sympathy in her eyes.

“Shannon, enough! If you’re not happy, let’s get divorced. No kids, finances clean. We can go to the courthouse right now—you’ll still make it back for dinner.” My voice was cold, mind made up. For the first time all night, I felt like I had some control.

Even now, I can’t understand how things got this far. I replayed the night, looking for a moment I could’ve changed. It felt like a car crash in slow motion.

During Easter weekend, we came back to Toledo for this reunion. Shannon begged me to go. I even ironed my best shirt.

I remembered the little things—her favorite coffee, the song she hummed in the shower. I did my best, didn’t I?

But how did things turn out like this? Her first love shows up, and she becomes a stranger.

“Why? Why do you have to treat me like this?” she pressed, her friends squeezing her hands.

I was at a loss. My mind was blank. I looked at the cracked screen, at the door blocked by security. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

She’d already leaned toward Brian, her body language clear. I felt like a ghost at my own wedding.

“What did I do for you to treat me this way?” she asked again, searching for an answer I couldn’t give.

“Shannon, let me ask you: do you still want this marriage? If you do, come home with me now and help take Mom to the hospital. If not, let’s get divorced. You stay here with him, and I’ll go back and take care of Mom myself.”

My voice trembled, but my resolve was real. Shannon’s eyes darted between me and Brian. The whole room held its breath, waiting for her answer.