Chapter 2

Six days before I left Marco, I stood alone under our wedding arch while the orchestra played the same song three times.

The first time, everyone smiled.

The second time, people began looking toward the garden entrance.

By the third, even the musicians understood the groom was not coming.

My wedding gown was heavy, not because of the silk or hand-sewn pearls, but because of the pity pressing down on me from every direction. Guests came close in careful waves, lowering their voices as if grief were contagious.

“Maybe he’s stuck in traffic.”

“Perhaps there was an emergency.”

“Don’t worry, Shania. Marco wouldn’t abandon you.”

I wanted to believe them.

Even then, some foolish part of me wanted to believe them.

Then Marco finally answered my call.

“Babe, I’m sorry.” His voice sounded tired, distracted, and far too calm. “Camille’s fever came back. She was shaking and wouldn’t let go of me. I couldn’t leave her like that.”

I stood in front of two families, three hundred guests, and a priest who had already closed his book.

“You couldn’t leave her,” I repeated.

He sighed. “Don’t say it like that. The ceremony can be rescheduled. We can even skip the banquet next time and go straight to registration. It’s the marriage that matters, not the performance.”

“The performance?” My voice nearly broke. “Marco, I’m wearing my wedding dress.”

There was a pause. Then Camille coughed faintly on the other end.

Marco’s tone softened immediately, but not for me.

“I have to go. She’s uncomfortable again. We’ll talk tonight, okay?”

The call ended.

I stared at the screen until the numbers blurred.

Our wedding planner came over with red eyes and asked what to do with the banquet food.

“Donate it,” I said.

“Miss Shania?”

“Donate all of it.”

Then I walked out before anyone could stop me.

The house Marco had bought for us looked warm from the outside. Soft lamps glowed in the windows. White curtains moved gently behind the glass. It should have felt like shelter.

Instead, it felt like a stage where I had been performing the role of beloved fiancée long after the audience had left.

I went upstairs and began packing every gift Marco had ever given me.

Jewelry boxes. Letters. Anniversary watches. The first designer bag he bought me after my parents died, when he promised I would never have to feel alone again. The diamond earrings Anastacia gave me for our engagement. The silk scarf Camille once borrowed without asking and returned smelling of her perfume.

All of it went into boxes.

I was sealing the third one when the door opened.

Marco stood there in his wedding suit.

Not the suit he should have worn at the altar. A different one. Looser, hurriedly changed, as if he had come from someone else’s room and remembered too late that he owed me an apology.

“Shania,” he said softly.

I did not answer.

He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms before I could step away. “I know I hurt you today. I really do. But Camille was terrified. After everything she did for me, I can’t ignore her when she needs me.”

I pushed against his chest.

He held on. “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I chose her over you.”

A laugh escaped me, sharp and ugly. “You did.”

His arms fell away.

I took the engagement ring from my finger and held it up between us. The diamond caught the light, cold and bright.

Marco’s face changed. “Don’t.”

I placed the ring on the dresser.

Not threw it.

Not dropped it.

Placed it carefully, the way one might set down something dead.

“I’m ending the engagement.”

For the first time that night, he looked genuinely shocked.

Then, slowly, disbelief replaced it.

“You’re angry,” he said.

“I’m done.”

“No.” He shook his head, almost smiling. “You’re not.”

The arrogance in his voice hurt more than anger would have.

“You love me, Shania. You’ve loved me since we were children. One bad day doesn’t end twenty years.”

“One bad day?” I whispered.

Before he could answer, Camille appeared in the doorway.

She wore a pale robe, her hair loose over her shoulders, her face carefully wan. She looked from Marco to me, then to the ring on the dresser.

“Oh,” she said softly. “I came at a bad time.”

Marco turned at once. “Why are you out of bed?”

“I heard voices.” Her eyes filled. “Shania, please don’t fight with him because of me. I already feel guilty enough. If not for my fever, your wedding would have gone perfectly.”

My fingers curled against my palms.

“If you felt guilty,” I said, “you would have told him to leave.”

Her lips parted.

Marco’s expression darkened. “Shania.”

Camille stepped closer, reaching for my hand. “I did tell him. He just cares too much. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Her fingers brushed mine.

I knocked her hand away.

She gasped as if I had struck her.

Marco grabbed my wrist. “Enough.”

“Enough?” I looked up at him. “She ruined our wedding and you’re angry at me?”

“She saved my life.”

“And that means she gets to take mine?”

Silence crashed into the room.

Marco’s grip tightened, then loosened. “Go sleep. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Always tomorrow.

I walked into my room and locked the door.

From the hallway, Camille’s voice drifted softly.

“She hates me so much, Marco.”

Marco answered, low and cold, “I’ll make her apologize.”

That night, I sat against the door in my wedding gown and realized that Marco no longer feared losing me.

He believed I had nowhere to go.