The Wedding That Never Happened Because He Loved Someone Else

Two years out of state, buried in Don Marchetti's clean operations in Lunaria, and I cut my time short. I came home to Solaria with my heart already half-dressed for the union ceremony, eager to seal the blood-bound betrothal that had been arranged before either of us was old enough to understand what a vow cost.

While I was setting up the rooms of the house we were meant to share, I found them. Hidden in the false bottom of his desk drawer, pressed flat and preserved with a care he had never once shown me, were the stubs. Hundreds of them.