2

I stagger backward, my mind reeling, my heels scraping against the polished floor as the weight of everything presses down on me. My voice trembles as I point an accusatory finger. “Don’t you dare call me Eva. And how dare you try to explain? Do you even understand what you’ve done? Do you?” My voice cracks, the words tumbling out in a mix of fury and disbelief. I feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck, burning into my cheeks. Why do I feel grateful for his betrayal? And why am I so angry now, realizing he was never truly right for me? That I never truly wanted to marry him in the first place? My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Oh my god, why does everything have to be so complicated?”

Lawrence’s face falls. His hands twitch by his sides as though he’s unsure whether to reach out to me or retreat. “But I have to… I…” He falters, his voice breaking as he stumbles over his words. “Please, Eva. Please, let me explain.”

I cut him off with a sharp gesture, my hand slicing through the air. “No, absolutely not.” My voice grows louder, the weight of my anger thickening the air between us. I gesture wildly at the ridiculous white gown I’m wearing, at him, and at the vast, empty space now separating us. “I should have known this was all wrong. All of it. I should never have accepted your proposal. Never. In a way, I’m almost glad you ended things. As painful as it was—humiliating as it was—I feel relieved. You saved me from a huge mistake.”

“Eva…” His voice is soft, tentative. His eyes widen, and the color drains from his face as though he’s been struck. His lips part, but no sound escapes at first. He shakes his head, visibly grappling for the right words. “No, please don’t say that,” he finally murmurs, his chin trembling. “I… I never meant to hurt you.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, the motion almost painfully slow.

I glare at him, feeling a sharp pang in my chest. “Are you serious right now?” I ask, my voice dripping with incredulity. “You didn’t mean to hurt me? Really?” My fists tighten until my nails dig into my palms.

He runs his hand through his carefully styled hair, ruining it completely. Dark strands stick up in odd directions, and for the first time today, he looks disheveled—human. His movements are frantic, like a man cornered.

There’s a strange, youthful vulnerability about him that has always struck me. We may be the same age, but I’ve always felt older somehow—like I needed to protect him, care for him. Is that why I said yes to his proposal? At first, I thought it was practical. A way to save money, consolidate our lives. But now, standing here in this moment of raw truth, another possibility claws its way to the surface. Did I agree to marry him because I missed taking care of someone? Was I trying to fill the void left behind when my younger sister Elizabeth moved away to ballet school? Caring for my father doesn’t feel the same—there’s no intimacy, no warmth in that relationship. Was I so desperate to feel needed that I overlooked every warning sign? Why didn’t these thoughts occur to me before I said yes?

He must see the storm of emotions playing out on my face because his own expression crumples. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. A single tear slips down his cheek, catching the light as it falls.

“No,” I say sharply, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t get to play the victim here. You don’t get to cry. Not after what you did.”

“Please, Eva, please.” His voice wavers, thick with desperation. “Can’t we talk? Just for a moment?”

There’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes, a kind of sorrow so heavy it almost softens the edges of my anger. Almost. But then pity creeps in, and I hate it—I hate feeling sorry for him when I should be furious.

Not only was I trying to fill the gaping void Elizabeth left behind when she moved away, but I realize now, with startling clarity, that I chose someone I could nurture. Someone who leaned on me, who depended on me far more than I ever depended on him. Someone who needed me more than I needed him. The thought feels like a cruel revelation, one that hits like a punch square to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. My chest tightens as the weight of my choices presses down on me, and I grimace, my expression twisting with frustration and regret. Great. Just perfect. Another glaring thing I failed to notice—failed to recognize—before I rushed headfirst into this engagement, blindly thinking it was the right decision. I bite my lip hard, as if the sting might somehow ground me, might keep the rising wave of frustration swelling inside me from completely overtaking my resolve.

“There’s no point in hashing out what happened,” I say finally, my voice firm. “We never should have planned to marry. And figuring that out in such a public way”—I gesture at the ornate surroundings of the church, the scattered flowers, the empty pews—“is not how I imagined this day would go.”

“Me neither,” Lawrence mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor like a chastised child. His hands dangle uselessly at his sides. “That’s the thing. I thought everything was fine. I thought I could go through with it. But then I walked into the church and…”

“You had doubts?” I cut in, my tone dry, laced with bitterness.

He nods solemnly, his shoulders slumping. “I thought it was just nerves. You know, the usual kind of wedding jitters. But then I saw everyone—the flowers, the aisle, the vows—and that’s when I knew. I couldn’t go through with it.”

I let out a humorless laugh, the sound sharp and cutting. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “That’s not an excuse, Lawrence. You couldn’t figure this out before proposing to me? Before dragging me through all of this?”

He winces, his body hunching inward, as though trying to shield himself from the blows of my words. He looks so small, so frail compared to the other man—the stranger standing nearby, watching us with an unreadable expression.

My gaze flickers to the stranger, and my breath catches in my throat. Why did he propose to me? Did he pity me? And why, why am I even considering his offer? Am I truly that desperate?

The blood rushes in my ears so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts. Marrying him? A man I’ve never met? That would be insane, wouldn’t it?

But then again, what’s wrong with being a little crazy? I was left at the altar. That’s crazy enough. What if I embrace it? What if I don’t run away screaming? What if I say yes? Agree to marry a man who is bold, handsome, and inexplicably drawn to me?

Lawrence blinks, then follows my gaze to the stranger. His expression shifts—his confusion giving way to recognition, and then… something else. A weird light flares in his eyes, something between anger and fear.

“What are you doing here?” Lawrence’s voice carries a mix of surprise and resentment as he stares down the older man. “I didn’t expect to see you at my wedding.”

Wait—they know each other?

“I couldn’t stay away,” the stranger growls, his voice edged with bitterness. “Especially after you pulled that disappearing act.”

Lawrence visibly winces, his expression hardening as he squares his shoulders. “I don’t need to hear this from someone who hasn’t been there for most of my life.”

“Father?” The word slips from my lips before I can stop it, my voice sharp with shock. I look at the stranger—the man whose proposal I almost accepted. “You’re his father?”