Part 1: The Hour Before
An hour before my wedding, I was barefoot in the bridal suite of St. Andrew’s Chapel in Charleston, one hand pressed against the small of my back and the other resting over the hard curve of my swollen belly. At seven months pregnant, every ache carried its own warning.
The pain came in waves—sharp, breath-stealing contractions that left me clutching the edge of the dressing table and trying to convince myself they were only stress, only exhaustion, only the strain of carrying too much hope in one body. I had been alone for the first time all morning. My maid of honor, Emily, had gone downstairs to make sure the florist hadn’t moved the white roses again, and my mother was already in the reception hall fussing over place cards as if perfect seating charts could hold a life together.
Everything about the day had been planned into submission. Every ribbon, every candle, every song. It was supposed to be the polished, radiant end of a long love story.
Instead, I stood in front of the mirror and felt as if the whole thing had already begun to crack beneath my feet.
I heard Ethan’s voice in the hallway first, and for one stupid, tender second, I smiled.
Neither of us cared much about the old superstition that the groom shouldn’t see the bride before the ceremony. Ethan had always made fun of those traditions, kissing my forehead and calling them sweet but impractical. I assumed he had slipped upstairs because he was nervous, because he wanted one quiet moment with me before the music and the guests and the cameras.
Then I heard another voice. A man’s voice. Low, familiar.
Connor, I thought. Ethan’s best man.
I moved closer to the door, my hand drifting to the frame for balance.
Ethan laughed softly, and then he said, “After today, it won’t matter anymore.”
Every muscle in my body went cold.
Connor asked, “Are you really going to do it?”
Ethan let out a tired exhale, like the question bored him. “What choice do I have?
Her father already covered half the deposit on the apartment. And once the baby gets here, she’ll be too distracted to ask questions.”
I gripped the doorframe so hard my fingers hurt.
Then came the words that split the whole day open.
“I never loved Claire,” he said. “This baby doesn’t change anything.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
