“No,” I answered honestly. “But I need witnesses.”
He nodded once.
“Then you won’t be there alone.”
When the coordinator knocked on the door and said it was time, the entire room seemed to shift around me. The contractions—if that’s what they were—had eased enough for me to walk. Emily held my bouquet. My father offered his arm.
And when the chapel doors opened, all the guests stood up with smiles on their faces and cameras raised, ready to capture a perfect memory.
At the altar, Ethan looked exactly as I had imagined so many times: handsome, flawless, confident. He smiled when he saw me, as if nothing in the world were wrong.
That smile almost destroyed me.
The officiant began. We went through the opening lines, the prayer, even the first polite laughs from the audience. Ethan even squeezed my hand once, and I had to stop myself from pulling away.
Then came the vows.
The officiant turned first to Ethan.
He cleared his throat, unfolded the paper from his pocket, and began:
“Claire, from the moment I met you—”
“Stop.”
My voice echoed through the entire chapel.
A hundred heads turned toward me. Ethan blinked.
