I stood in my wedding dress while the guests waited, certain my best friend had chosen the worst possible moment to fall apart. Rachel had never failed me before, though, so when she opened the bathroom door with my phone in her hand, I knew something was very wrong.
Ten minutes before I was supposed to marry Nolan, my maid of honor locked herself in the bathroom at the chapel and told me not to make her walk down the aisle.
At first, I thought Rachel was panicking.
Then I heard her crying.
“Rachel,” I said, pressing my palm to the door. “Open up.”
“No.”
The string quartet had already played “Canon in D” twice.
Behind me, my mother pinched the edge of my veil between two fingers.
“Fix this quietly, Sophie,” she whispered. “And fast.”
That was my mother’s favorite kind of fix. Neat, quiet, and no room for anyone to ask questions.
“I’m trying,” I said.
“Try harder. Nolan is already standing at the altar.”
I looked down the hall.
Through the chapel doors, I saw him near the stained-glass window, smiling at my aunt. He looked calm.
He looked steady, safe, and charming.
That’s what I loved about him.
***
Six years with him had taught me what I thought calm love looked like: Sunday coffee, oil changes before winter, and his hand on my back whenever my mother’s tongue got sharp.
“Rachel,” I said again. “People are waiting. I need you to open up.”
“I know.”
She went silent.
For 12 years, Rachel had picked up every time I called. Rent trouble, midnight breakdowns, and every emergency in between; she had always been there.
And she’d never asked me for anything in return.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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