On the morning of her wedding, Hannah is moments away from marrying the man she has loved for four years. But before she can walk down the aisle, one trembling warning from his mother turns her perfect day into a choice she never expected to face.
Morning light poured through the stained-glass windows of the church, scattering rose and gold across the marble floor. The hum of two hundred guests drifted under the door of the bridal suite, soft as a hymn, and the scent of white roses hung so thick I could taste it on my tongue.
Four years.
Four years of late-night phone calls, shared apartments, and whispered plans about the house we would buy. And now Craig waited for me at the altar.
“You look like a painting, sweetheart,” my father said from the doorway.
He was already in his suit, his tie crooked the way it always got when he was nervous. I crossed the room and straightened it for him.
“Don’t make me cry before the aisle, Dad.”
He kissed my forehead and stepped back to look at me.
His eyes were already shining.
A soft knock interrupted us. Florence appeared in the doorway, her cream-colored dress immaculate, her purse clutched against her chest like a shield.
“Hannah. I—” Her voice caught.
“I wanted to—”
“Of course, come in.”
She didn’t move from the threshold. Her hand slipped to the clasp of the purse, half-opening it, and I caught the pale edge of an envelope inside before her fingers closed over it again. Her knuckles went white.
Her smile did not quite reach her eyes.
“The bouquet is beautiful,” I tried. “Did you see the arrangements in the chapel?”
“I did. They’re lovely.”
Her gaze slid past me to the window, then back to the purse, then away.
She drew a breath as if to say something more and let it out empty.
“It can wait,” she murmured. “It’s nothing. You look beautiful, Hannah.”
She had always been this way with me.
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