I laughed, but when I teased him about knowing my routine — the park on Wednesday, the animal shelter fundraiser — I realized I hadn’t told anyone. His smile flickered. “I guess I pay attention.”
The unease grew.
The morning of the wedding, Miranda hovered everywhere, adjusting my dress, smoothing stray hairs, whispering how proud she was of Daniel. Richard was nowhere — the last time I saw him, he stood by the back door, cigarette in hand, eyes rimmed red.
When it was time to line up, Tara squeezed my hand. “Ready, Lia?”
“I think so.”
She whispered, “You look terrified.” And I was.
Then Richard appeared, hands shaking, eyes hollow. He pressed a folded note into my hand and walked away.
Say no. Say you don’t want to marry him. Amelia — you don’t know what really happened ten years ago.
The words punched the air out of my lungs.
