The wedding dress fit perfectly. Of course it did—I'd been to five fittings to make sure every seam, every pearl, every inch of lace sat exactly right against my skin. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, watching the late afternoon sunlight catch the crystals sewn into the bodice, and tried to remember what happiness felt like. "You look absolutely stunning, Elena," my mother whispered, adjusting my veil for the hundredth time. Her eyes were already wet with tears. "Marcus is going to lose his breath when he sees you." I smiled at her reflection, the practiced smile I'd perfected over seven years of waiting. Seven years of being second best. Seven years of telling myself that this moment—this exact moment right here—would make it all worth it. The engagement party was already in full swing downstairs. I could hear the music, the laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses. Two hundred guests celebrating the fact that Marcus Chen had finally, finally decided I was worth marrying. That after seven years of dating, of canceled plans and broken promises, of watching him drop everything whenever *she* called, he'd gotten down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. "Just give me a few more minutes," I told my mother. "I want to... I just need a moment alone." She kissed my cheek, leaving a lipstick mark I'd have to fix later. "Don't take too long, sweetheart. Your fiancé is waiting." The door clicked shut behind her, and I was alone with my reflection. The woman staring back at me looked like a bride from a magazine spread—elegant, poised, radiant. She looked nothing like the girl who'd cried herself to sleep three months ago on her thirtieth birthday, when Marcus had left her dinner reservation to drive Diana home from the airport. Again. But that was over now. Diana had moved to Paris. Diana was out of our lives. Diana was— My phone buzzed on the vanity table. I shouldn't have looked. I should have left it there, should have walked downstairs to my engagement party and my future husband and my carefully planned life. But I looked. The message was from an unknown number, but I knew immediately who it was from. *"Congratulations on your engagement. I'm sure you look beautiful today. Marcus always did love you in white. It's almost a shame."* My fingers tightened around the phone. Another message appeared. *"I'm back in town, by the way. Thought you should know."* I stared at the screen, watching those three little dots that meant she was still typing. My heart hammered against my ribs, against the perfectly fitted bodice that suddenly felt too tight. *"Tell Marcus I said hello."* I was still standing there, frozen, when I heard the commotion downstairs. Raised voices. My father's stern tone. And then footsteps on the stairs—running footsteps that I would have recognized anywhere. Marcus burst through the door without knocking, his face flushed, his phone clutched in his hand. He stopped when he saw me, and for just a second—one brief, shining second—his eyes widened with something that might have been awe. "Elena, you look—" He shook his head. "I need to talk to you." "You're not supposed to see me before—" "Diana's in the hospital." The words came out in a rush. "She collapsed at the airport. She's asking for me." Of course she was. I looked at him—really looked at him—this man I'd loved since I was twenty-three years old. Marcus Chen, with his designer suit and his perfect hair and his phone that was always, always ringing at the worst possible moments. The man who'd promised me, just three months ago when he slipped that ring on my finger, that Diana was in his past. "Our engagement party is happening right now," I said quietly. "There are two hundred people downstairs." "I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—" His phone rang. He looked at the screen, and I saw something cross his face. Something that used to make me jealous, then angry, then resigned. Now it just made me tired. "She needs me," he said. "I need you." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Right now, right here, I need you." He was already backing toward the door. "It's an emergency, Elena. You understand emergencies. I'll be back as soon as I can. An hour, maybe two. We can still do this. Just... just tell everyone I had a work crisis or something." "Marcus—" "I love you." He said it quickly, carelessly, the way you'd tell someone to have a nice day. Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving me alone in my wedding dress with two hundred guests waiting downstairs and a message from Diana burning on my phone screen. I stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Then, very carefully, I sat down at the vanity and picked up my phone. Another message had come through. *"I won."* Two words. That's all it took. I looked at myself in the mirror again—at the dress, the veil, the makeup that had taken an hour to apply. At the woman who'd spent seven years making excuses, accepting apologies, believing that love meant waiting, meant understanding, meant coming second to a ghost from his past. My hands were steady as I opened a new message to Marcus. *"Don't bother coming back. We're done."* I hit send before I could change my mind. Then I stood up, walked to the closet, and pulled out the jeans and sweater I'd arrived in this morning. The dress pooled at my feet like spilled milk as I stepped out of it, and I didn't look back. My mother found me in the parking lot twenty minutes later, suitcase in hand, makeup streaked down my face. "Elena! What are you doing? Where's Marcus? Everyone's asking—" "Tell them the wedding's off." I opened my car door. "Tell them whatever you want. I don't care anymore." "Sweetheart, please, let's talk about this. Whatever happened, I'm sure you two can work it out. You always do." That's what finally broke me. The fact that she was right. We always had worked it out. I'd always forgiven him, always understood, always waited. "I'm going home," I said. "To Millbrook. I need... I need to get away from here." "For how long?" I looked back at the venue, at the windows glowing with light and music and celebration. At the life I'd been so desperate to have. "I don't know. Maybe forever." I drove through the night, still in my jeans and tear-stained sweater, my phone blowing up with calls and messages I didn't answer. It wasn't until I crossed the town line into Millbrook—population 3,000, the place I'd run from at eighteen to chase a bigger life in the city—that I finally felt like I could breathe. My childhood home looked exactly the same. My father had kept it maintained even after he'd moved to be closer to his medical practice in the city. I let myself in with the key I'd never taken off my keychain and stood in the dark living room, surrounded by memories of a simpler time. My phone rang. Not Marcus this time. Liam. I stared at his name on the screen. Liam Foster, my best friend from childhood, the boy who'd taught me to climb trees and catch fireflies and believe that some people actually kept their promises. We'd stayed in touch over the years, but it had been months since we'd really talked. I answered. "Elena." His voice was rough, strained. "I know it's late. I know you're probably... God, I don't even know where to start." "Liam? What's wrong?" "It's Sophie." His sister. My friend. "She's dead." The world tilted.