The Wedding

Happy New Year! Hope everyone had a great day. I appreciate all of you spending 2025 with me and I can't wait to see what 2026 has in store for us.

On that note, here's a bit of an extra for everyone. Over on my Discord server, I have a channel dedicated to a writing exercise I used to do in college. The idea is a simple one, you are given 3 random words and for 3 minutes, you write as much as you can, ensuring to use those 3 words in the passage. I ran this last night, and 3 minutes turned into 3 hours and then some.

Fair warning, there's no explicit sex in this one. There is a scene that I almost added my flair to, but honestly, I felt like it would have taken away from the actual story being told.

Anyway, hope you enjoy. The link to my Discord is below in case anyone wants to participate in the writing challenges or just come hang out and chat.

https://discord.gg/qzb6fCsjAH

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I tugged at the collar of my shirt. It felt like I was suffocating, like the walls were closing in all around me. I hated dressing up, always had. I preferred a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt any day of the week. But then, you can’t exactly crash your ex’s wedding in a pair of Wranglers and a Green Day shirt, can you?

So here I was, in a tie a friend knotted for me, sweating through a jacket that didn’t fit right, sitting in the back of a chapel waiting to spontaneously combust. When that didn’t happen, I did the next best thing: I pulled out the flask of whiskey from my jacket pocket. I was going to need it.

Not even a year ago, we were the ones talking about saying our vows in a little church just like this. Her granddad, the man who taught me how to fish, stood in front of the altar preparing to preach the service. I glanced around the small space. Maybe a hundred people, tops. She wanted it small, intimate. Yellow magnolias covered the stage where "Mr. Romance" stood with his perfect jawline and military haircut, like he appeared straight off the cover of GQ.

The organ began to play and everyone stood.

My pulse skyrocketed. I felt it in my throat, pounding like a warning bell. Get out. Get the fuck out. My stomach twisted hard enough to make me sweat, and for a second, I thought I might actually vomit. I glanced from side to side, relieved no one was looking at the fool in the shadows. I probably looked possessed. Like God Himself had reached inside me and was trying to rip out whatever demons I was fighting.

This couldn’t be happening.

I told myself I was happy for her. That I came here to let her go, to wish her well and walk away like a grown-up. But in that moment, all I could think about was how fucking unfair it was.

It should’ve been me up there. Waiting for her. Accepting her from her father, the same man who gave me my first beer, who called me 'son' after I lost mine when I was ten, just three short years before she came into my life and turned my world upside down.

My eyes burned. I blinked fast, turned toward the door. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t watch her walk toward someone else.

But then—

There she was. She stepped into the aisle, and the whole goddamn world stopped. Same girl, different universe.

Her veil covered her face, but even from this distance, I could see the gentle curve of her lips. The way her blue eyes sparkled with tears. A soft gasp emanated from the room as she took her first steps into the building. She was perfect in every way. Her dress flowed in the back, not so much that she needed a trail of people to carry it, but enough to make it look like she was gliding past the pews. Her shoulders were bare, and I found myself staring at the small freckle between her shoulder blades. The same one I used to kiss when I crawled into bed with her at night. She had a matching one just above her right hip, and I would have given anything in that moment to see it again.

***

That freckle was the first thing I noticed the night we got too drunk to keep pretending we were just friends. She had just finished her first year of college, and I’d gotten a big promotion at the diesel repair shop. We were barely twenty back then. That alone felt like reason enough to drink.

Neither of us were old enough to drink, so we just did what we'd done throughout most of high school, invite a bunch of friends back to her parents' place and drink on the back porch. What started as a group of about ten of us quickly dissolved into a party of two just before midnight. Not that either of us cared, we'd been best friends most of our lives at this point, so we were more than happy to sit alone and pass the bottle between us laughing about how stupid my hair looked (it did), and how she was using bigger words just to try to sound smarter than the rest of us (she was).

She wore an old sweatshirt that slid off her shoulder every time she shifted, and a pair of cutoffs that her daddy would have set on fire had he been around to see how they fit on her. Her hair was longer then, tied back in a messy knot that made her look like she hadn't slept in days, but somehow that only made her more beautiful.

At some point, the conversation dried up and we both just sat there, staring up at the moon. I don't know how long we sat there in silence, but I could have done it all night as long as she was the one sitting next to me. Eventually, she was the one that broke the quiet.

"When are you ever going to finally ditch this one stoplight town and expand your horizons?" she asked, shifting her weight and bumping her hip into mine as she handed me the bottle.

"When are you going to realize you don't need some fancy college degree to be happy?" She gave me a hurt look and I realized, in my drunken state, that didn't come out the way I'd intended.

I tried again. "Everything I want is right here. Why would I ever leave?"

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked down into her drink, then back up at me.

“I missed you,” she said, quiet, like she wasn't sure she wanted me to hear her or not. “I missed this.”

“I missed you too,” I said. “I hated every second you were gone. You know you're the only person in this town that gets me.”

She smiled, a big smile, like she'd just won the lottery. I can still see that smile when I close my eyes. I don't think I've ever seen happiness like that before. I've certainly never felt it.

Then, as quickly as it happened, it was gone and I was worried that I'd messed something up. She stood up, her legs unsteady as the alcohol caught up with her and she brushed off the back of her shorts. Her sweatshirt slipped again. Just enough that I was able to see that little freckle between her shoulder blades.

She stopped in the doorway and looked back. “You coming?”

I stood. Followed her in.

---

Her room hadn't changed at all since she left for college. The same twin bed sat in the corner. Posters of Green Day and Panic! at the Disco still covered the walls. The string of fairy lights we’d hung two summers ago was the only light in the room as the door clicked shut behind me.

She stood by the bed, her back to me, silent, like she was waiting for me to decide if I had the guts to cross the line we’d been dancing around for years. She ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it into a new bun like she was getting ready for bed and I was misreading all the signs. I fought the urge to turn and run away, to once again convince myself this was all in my head and she couldn't possibly be into a guy like me.

I took a step closer, my legs shaky, either from nerves or the alcohol... definitely the nerves. One step became two and then another. Suddenly I was right behind her. I could smell the strawberry in her hair, feel the heat of her body just inches from mine. My hands moved on their own, sliding around her waist. I expected her to tense, to flinch. Instead, she let out a breath of air that she too had been holding. Her body melted into mine, and I kissed her shoulder, her neck.

She let out a soft moan and reached back, curling her fingers into the back of my hair, dragging her nails lightly along the base of my neck. I thought I was going to lose it right there. Don't get me wrong, I'd been with girls before her, but none of them were her. None of them could hold a candle to Emily Thompson.

“I’ve wanted this since freshman year,” she whispered, breaking the silence along with my train of thought. My grip tightened slightly on her hips as I tried to understand what she was saying.

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

She giggled, pressing her body deeper into mine. “I tried. Several times. You’re not very good at picking up hints.”

My hands were still on her stomach. She reached for them and, without a word, guided them higher, pressing my palms to her bare chest. They filled my hand perfectly, soft and warm. She squeezed my hand, my fingers pressing into her flesh, making her gasp.

“I had to get a little more... forward,” she said, sighing against my jaw.

I groaned against her, my touch becoming more urgent. My lips were on her neck again, just below her ear. “I don’t want to fuck this up,” I whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She turned in my arms, finally facing me. Her hands slid up my chest and around my neck.

“Then don’t."

***

“Do you, Emily Marie Thompson, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I blinked back tears, my hands trembling as I reached into my jacket for the flask. Another shot of whiskey burned down my throat, but it didn’t touch the fire in my chest. A hush had fallen over the church. Her grandfather's words hanging in the air as she sniffled.

Her smile wasn't one of those fake ones you see in the movies where it's all teeth and clearly performative. She had a subtle curve on her lips, the red lipstick doing its job and making it pop just right. It almost looked like she was holding back a laugh as she took a gloved hand wiping away a tear before it had the chance to ruin her makeup.

I'd only seen Emily cry tears of happiness once before in my life. It was our senior year of high school. Her boyfriend of three months had dumped her two weeks before the big night, and she’d taken it hard. Said she wasn’t going. Claimed she’d already been to every prom that mattered, that it wasn’t worth the trouble.

So I showed up at her front door three hours before the dance in a rented tux, holding a corsage and standing next to a limo. Yet another time she'd managed to get me to dress up.

When she opened the door, she stared at me like I was a figment of her imagination. Then she punched me in the arm and demanded, “Darren? What the hell?”

Before I could answer, she broke down crying. I panicked, thought I’d messed something up, pushed too far. She must have seen the look of panic on my face because she laughed, then wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, and said, “They’re happy tears, dumbass,” before disappearing into her room to get ready.

Her dad appeared in the doorway a second later, arms crossed. “Well, you might as well come inside. She’ll be a while.” I nodded, following him in nervous as all hell.

"What exactly are your intentions for the night?" He asked, signaling for me to sit down on the sofa, while he disappeared into the kitchen.

My stomach twisted. I didn’t know how to answer that. All I wanted was to make Emily smile. Let her dance. Forget she’d been hurt. But the way he asked it, like every sitcom dad we’d grown up watching, had me frozen.

"I..." My words died as I realized, I had no idea what to say. Luckily, he didn't press. He returned with a couple of beers, cracking one open and handing the other to me. The sound of the can opening hit like a gunshot. My eyes flicked to the mantle, where his shotgun rested. Just in case.

“You’re a good kid, Darren,” he said, settling into his recliner. He took a drink and waited for me to do the same. I forced a sip. The bitterness made me wince.

He laughed and slapped my arm. “Emily’s fragile right now,” he said. “It was nice of you to show up like this. Meant a lot to her.”

I nodded, unsure what to say.

When it was obvious I wasn't sure how to contribute to the conversation, he continued. "Were you aware she just got accepted to The University of Georgia?"

“Yeah,” I said, perhaps a little friendlier than I should have. “She’s talked about being a Bulldog since middle school.”

"She can't have any... distractions," he said flatly. "If she thinks..." he paused, reconsidering his words. "If she thinks tonight is anything other than just two friends going to a dance she'll reconsider her entire future. Son, she'll reconsider your entire friendship. You don't want that."

And there it was. I wasn’t smart enough for UGA. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could get into the local community college. His meaning was clear. I was good enough to be her friend. Like a son. But, in no world was I good enough to date his daughter.

Before I could respond, before I could even consider what he was saying, Emily walked into the room and every thought I had vanished. She had on a pale blue dress that showed off her shoulders and the top of her chest. Her hair held up by what looked like at least a thousand bobby pins.

"You look... wow," I mumbled, drawing a laugh from her father as I stood up from the couch. She smiled shyly, tucking her cheek into her shoulder.

"Thanks," she whispered. "You clean up pretty nicely yourself." She took a step into the living room, her dress flowing to the floor despite her four-inch heels. "Is Amy waiting in the car?"

I had a girlfriend, Amy, we'd been together for about a month. It wasn't anything serious though, and when I learned Emily's boyfriend had broken her heart I told Amy my plans. Of course she wasn't happy and accused me of being in love with her, before promptly breaking things off with me.

At the time, I didn't argue with Amy. I figured she was overreacting. That she was just jealous of a friendship she didn't understand. Girls did that sometimes, right? Got territorial over things that didn't belong to them in the first place.

But standing in Emily's living room, beer in my hand and rocks in my mouth, watching her float into the room like something out of my dreams, I felt the truth hit me at a hundred miles an hour. Amy hadn't been jealous. She'd been right. Completely, devastatingly right.

I was in love with Emily Thompson. Had been for God knows how long. Maybe since freshman year, maybe longer. All those nights I'd told myself we were just friends, it had all been bullshit. Self-preservation wrapped up in denial.

Amy had seen it before I did. Hell, probably everyone had seen it but me.

And one year later, I found out Emily loved me too.

"I do," she said, and my world shattered. Her voice pulled me back to the present, a million tiny knives sliced through my chest.

We'd lost so much time not telling each other how we felt. Years of wasted opportunities and missed chances.

And now she was standing across from someone else. Someone who hadn’t needed years to figure it out. Someone who hadn’t hesitated.

Someone who wasn’t me.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Applause thundered through the church. People yelped and cheered as I drifted further into the shadows. I didn’t clap. I couldn’t. My hands were still shaking, my grip locked around the flask like it was the only thing anchoring me to the wall.

I watched as she leaned in, eyes closed, lips parted. The kiss blurred. The sound, the lights, the applause, it all faded beneath a memory I couldn’t drink away.

---

"Shit, I overslept," Emily announced jumping out of bed frantically looking for her bra. I rolled over, still half asleep and watched her frantically gather her clothes from the night before. This had become the routine for most of her time at college.

"Have you seen my other shoe?" She dropped to her knees to look under the bed. "I have finals in three hours. It will take me most of that to just drive back."

"You're stressing yourself out." I sat up, pulling on a white t-shirt. "You'll make it back in time, you always do."

She spotted her other sneaker and pulled it on, hopping around my room on one foot.

"Coffee?" I asked, walking to the door, as she fell backward on the bed trying to catch her breath.

"I have a surprise for you." She pushed herself up on her elbows, her lips twitching with excitement.

"Is it coffee related?" I hated surprises, and the way she said it caused my pulse to skyrocket.

Her giggle floated across the room like music and I couldn't help but grin.

"I got a job offer." Her eyes danced with excitement that I couldn't understand. We'd talked about life after college. I always knew that she would make roots in Athens. I just thought there'd be a little time in between.

"Oh, that was—"

"Here," she interjected, with a laugh. "I got a job here after graduation. There was an opening at the high school, and on a whim I applied."

She was bouncing on her toes now, excitement pouring out of her.

"Here?" My brain struggled to keep up. I wanted to be happy for her, for us. Hell, I should have been, this was exactly what we needed. But, her father's voice from all those years ago haunted me. She had a future. She couldn't trade that in. Not for somebody like me.

"Emily I..."

"It's great, right?" She grabbed my forearm with both arms, oblivious to the look of horror on my face. "No more only seeing each other on the weekends. No more falling asleep talking to each other on the phone. Just..." She finally saw my face. "You're not happy. Why don't you look happy?"

"Emily, you can't."

Her smile died. "Can't what?" I could already see the tears welling in her eyes.

"Throw away everything you've worked for. The city, the opportunities. You're meant for bigger things than this place. Than me."

She stepped back like I'd struck her. The hurt in her eyes made my stomach twist.

"I don't want bigger things. I want you. I want us."

"I won't let you sabotage your life."

"Let me?" She scoffed, like I was the most disgusting person in the world. Fire crept into her voice as her eyes went dark. "You sound like him." She accused, and instantly knew she was talking about her father. "I'm capable of making my own decisions, Darren. This is what I want. This is what's best for us. Why can't you see that?"

Because I'm not enough. Because you'll wake up in five years and resent me for letting you settle. Because your father was right.

The thoughts crashed against my teeth, but I couldn't say them. Couldn't admit that every doubt eating me alive came from someone else's voice.

"Tell me you don't want the same thing." Her voice cracked. "Tell me I'm wrong about us."

I opened my mouth. Nothing came. I couldn't breathe.

Everything I wanted stood three feet away, offering herself freely. But all I could see was the man I wasn't. The life I couldn't give her, the disappointment waiting down the road.

Emily's shoulders sagged. She nodded slowly, reading my silence like a death sentence.

"Okay."

One word. Four letters. The end of everything.

She turned toward the door. No argument. No tears. Just quiet acceptance that broke me worse than screaming would have.

I watched her leave. Stood there like a coward while the best thing in my life walked away.

I didn't know then that I'd only see her once more before today. Didn't know that moment would haunt every relationship that came after.

***

The reception was across the street at the community center. I followed the rest of the guests over, like a lamb on my way to slaughter. I don’t know why I didn’t just get in my car and leave. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe I was punishing myself. I told myself it was because I'd finished the rest of what was in my flask during the kiss. That image was burned into my mind and I needed something strong so I wouldn't see it in my dreams later that night.

I'm not sure what I expected when I walked through those doors, but it wasn't this. The same room that hosted bingo every Friday night had been transformed into something out of a storybook. Twinkle lights draped from the ceiling like stars yanked down from the sky. Candles flickered in mason jars on every table, their soft glow making everything feel hazy and romantic. The linoleum floors had been covered with rich hardwood panels, and white curtains masked the windows so well I had to remind myself where I was.

It didn’t look like our town anymore. It didn’t feel like the place where we grew up, made mistakes, fell in love. It looked like the life she always wanted. The one I couldn’t give her.

People were already gathering near the bar, laughter bubbling over glasses of champagne and half-eaten appetizers. Somewhere in the corner, her dad was talking to someone in a suit, a cigar tucked between his fingers like he was the goddamn mayor of the place. He saw me, I think, but didn’t say anything.

That was fine. I didn’t have the energy to fake a smile. I kept my head down, making a beeline for the bar.

That's exactly where I was standing when the lights dimmed and a hush fell over the room.

The DJ’s voice cut through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time as husband and wife… Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Harper.”

A wave of applause rippled across the room. I should have snuck out the back. Gotten back into my truck and driven as far away from here as possible. Instead, I just stood there like a deer in headlights as she grabbed a champagne flute and they walked onto the dance floor hand-in-hand.

Her train shimmered as he spun her, hand on her waist. I couldn't even tell you what song was playing, I couldn't hear, couldn't move, but my eyes were laser focused. She laughed at something he said as her hand slid up his arm, curling into his hair.

Then, she turned, just slightly as part of the slow dance. Everything became background noise in that moment as our eyes found each other, snapping together like magnets.

Shock flickered across her face. Her body stilled, hands tightening on her husband’s shoulder. She whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, oblivious. Her smile slipped for half a heartbeat, then reformed, her eyes never leaving mine.

Her lips curved upward into a smile, and I wondered if the pain I felt was my heart being ripped from my chest. Was she gloating? Shoving her newfound happiness into my face? Were the tears sliding down her face because she realized she could've had this kind of happiness sooner if she'd had never met me?

That couldn't be right. Emily wasn't vindictive, wasn't this level of cruel. That had never been her style.

But then I saw it. The look in her eye, I'd somehow missed. Not a look of sadness or regret or even cruelness. It was a look of longing. A look that said she missed me. The same look I saw on her face just two months ago.

***

It was nearly 2am. I had just gotten back from taking a call about a disabled semi on I-85. I didn't usually work on-call, but I needed the extra money. I was moving from the shower into my room when I heard the soft tap on the door followed by her unmistakable giggle. At first I thought I was imagining things. I hadn't talked to Emily in months, but then I heard it again, louder this time.

I opened the door and there she was, leaning against my door like she had never left. Her hair was messy, like she'd been out all night dancing. Her mascara was smudged beneath eyes that sparkled after she'd had one too many vodka redbulls. She leaned against the frame, barely holding herself upright, her purse dangling haphazardly from her arm.

“Hey,” she said, blinking up at me like she wasn’t sure if I was real or not.

“Emily? What the hell are you doing here?”

"I missed you." She stumbled forward, fingers already tugging at the hem of my t-shirt. "God, I missed you so much."

"You're drunk," I said, catching her wrist and trying to steady her. "We should talk."

"I don't want to talk." Her voice cracked. "I didn't come here to talk."

She pulled her wrists from my grasp and that's when I saw it. A big, glittering diamond sitting on her left, winking at me like a cruel joke.

"Is that a ring?"

She pulled her hand away, hiding it behind her back like a guilty child. "Can we not do this?"

"Emily, what the hell? You're engaged?" The world tilted and I stumbled backward. "When? For how long?"

"Isn't this what everyone wanted?" Her voice climbed higher, years of frustration spilling over. "For me to find someone? Someone who could get me out of this town? Someone with money and a name that opens doors?" She laughed, but it sounded more like breaking glass. "Someone respectable."

Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “That’s what I was supposed to do, right? That’s what Dad wanted.”

She looked up, and the fire in her eyes wasn’t just anger. It was hurt. It was heartbreak. It was every goodbye we’d ever said stitched together.

“That’s what you wanted,” she said softly, the words hitting me harder than if she’d screamed them. “You pushed me away. You told me not to throw my life away. So I didn’t. I left. And he did what you were too scared to do.”

Her voice wavered, thick with the tears she refused to let fall. She choked on a sob, blinking it back.

I stepped closer, unable to stop myself. “Emily, I—”

She grabbed the front of my shirt, stood on her toes, and crushed her mouth to mine. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Starved. Her body collided with mine like a dam breaking, and all the years between us dissolved in an instant.

My hands slid under hers, across her waist, up her back. Her skin burned beneath my touch. Every place she touched me lit up, like she’d never left, like we were still nineteen, drunk on a porch, wondering what would happen if we crossed the line.

Her kiss became oxygen as I backed her into the wall, sending the lamp crashing to the ground. She laughed against my mouth, her fingernails sliding down the base of my skull as we stumbled down the hallway tearing off clothes.

She fell onto my bed with a playful sigh, and I was on top of her like there wasn't a second to lose. I kissed my way up her legs, relishing the way her fingers felt tangled in my hair. All thoughts of the ring were gone, or maybe it was the thing fueling us both on. My teeth pressed against her right hip, just about that freckle, followed by the sweet sound of her moan as my tongue found it's target.

The musical sound of her sighs and moans filled my room as she greedily pulled me up her body and I sank into her. Despite the years apart, our bodies remembered every inch of each other, and as her mouth crashed into mine I told myself I wasn't going to fuck this up again. In the morning when she was sober we would talk. I'd tell her how stupid I'd been. How much I loved her. How she needed to call the engagement off and run away with me. I kissed the freckle between her shoulder blades, taking in her scent as I felt her body still and she fell asleep.

When I woke up in the morning, she was gone. I lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'd dreamed the whole thing. Then I saw her earring on my nightstand, glinting like evidence of my own stupidity. I hadn't seen her since.

***

The memory dissolved like smoke, leaving me back in the community center with twinkle lights and regret. Emily was still there on the dance floor, still moving in perfect sync with her husband, but her eyes hadn't left mine.

Eight weeks. Eight weeks since I'd woken up to find nothing but her earring and the thought of once again being too late. Eight weeks of wondering if that night had meant anything to her, or if it was just another mistake in a long line of them.

Now here she was, married to someone else, and I was the idiot standing at the bar drowning in whiskey and what-ifs.

I should leave. This was torture disguised as closure, and I'd had enough of both to last a lifetime.

I pushed away from the bar, ready to slip out the back before anyone noticed. Before I made this day about anything other than her happiness. She deserved that much, at least.

But then she lifted her champagne flute in my direction. A small gesture, barely noticeable to anyone else. A silent salute across a crowded room. Maybe a goodbye. Maybe forgiveness. Maybe just acknowledgment that we'd existed together once, in stolen moments that still burned like wildfire in our memory.

I raised my whiskey in response, feeling like an actor in someone else's play.

Then I saw it.

No bubbles.

The champagne flute in her hand was perfectly still. Clear liquid that caught the light wrong, too flat, too transparent... It was water. She was drinking water at her own wedding.

The world tilted sideways.

Emily had never been a lightweight. She'd always matched me drink for drink and laughed while doing it. But tonight, her wedding night of all nights, she was stone-cold sober. Where champagne flowed like water and everyone was celebrating. It didn't make sense. Why didn't she want to drink? Was she afraid it would somehow tarnish this perfect evening? Did she know I would show up and she didn't trust herself to not saying something stupid if she was drunk?

Unless... unless she couldn't drink.

The timeline crashed through my mind like a freight train. Two months ago. That night. The desperate way she'd pulled me to her, like she was drowning. The quick wedding that had half the town whispering about shotgun ceremonies and family pressure.

My knees nearly buckled.

Two months. The math worked perfectly, and I knew Emily's body better than I knew my own. Knew the way her face flushed when she had too much wine, knew she could drink me under the table without breaking stride. She'd never voluntarily give that up. Not tonight. Not unless she had to.

All of it suddenly crystallized into focus. The hasty wedding her father had pushed through, the way he'd been hovering near her all day like she might bolt. This wasn't the slow-burn love story she'd always dreamed about. This was damage control dressed up in magnolias and twinkle lights.

Nicholas Harper seemed like a decent guy. The kind who'd step up without asking questions, who'd love a child as his own because that's what good men do. Maybe he knew. Maybe he didn't. But in seven months when that baby came a few weeks "early," he'd count on his fingers and convince himself the math added up close enough.

Emily would let him believe it. Not because she was cruel, but because it was what everyone expected of her. What I'd made inevitable the day I'd told her she deserved better than me.

The song ended. Her husband spun her one final time, his hand settling on her waist, and the crowd erupted in applause. But Emily's gaze never wavered from mine, carrying a secret that changed everything and nothing all at once.

I held her gaze, trying to read what was behind those eyes. Did she want me to fight for her one last time? Was she telling me I was her one true love and I needed to believe in us as much as she did? Or, was she giving me an out, telling me everything was going to be okay? That what we had was special. That what we made was real, and she was going to ensure it had the best life possible?

I raised my glass to her one last time, downed the rest of my whisky and pushed through the exit door. I didn't look back. I couldn't.

Some truths are meant to stay buried. Some secrets burn themselves into your bones and stay there forever, unspoken and unacknowledged, shaping everything that comes after.

In seven months, Emily would hold a baby with my eyes and call it by another man's name.

And I would spend the rest of my life wondering if I'd been right.