Three days before my wedding in Montana, my father…

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Three days before my wedding, my father told me he wouldn’t walk me down the aisle because my sister might feel “overshadowed” — but when the church doors opened and he saw the billionaire rancher who had taken his place, the smile disappeared from his face before I reached the first row

PART 1 — THE ORCHID HAD NO ROOTS

The steel jaws of the pruning shears snapped shut, and the orchid fell without a sound. I stood in the humid warmth of my greenhouse holding the severed stem between two fingers, staring at the bruised white petals as if they had betrayed me personally. The orchid had been imported, expensive, and stunning in that shallow way beautiful things can be stunning when nobody expects them to survive.

My sister Isabella had sent it the week before with a card written in her looping, theatrical handwriting: Can’t wait to see you shine, little sis. It had no roots. That was why it was already dying.

My father’s voice crackled from the speakerphone on my potting bench, thin and distorted under the low hum of the ventilation fans. “It’s just about being sensitive right now, Penny.”

Three days before my wedding. Seventy-two hours before I was supposed to stand inside the old stone chapel at the Bozeman Botanical Gardens and marry Elias Thorne, my father was explaining why he would not be walking me down the aisle.

I looked at the orchid stem in my hand and said nothing. “Isabella is going through a hard time with Preston,” he continued. “You know how fragile she’s been.

Seeing you so happy, getting everything you want, it’s rubbing salt in the wound.”

Getting everything I wanted. That was how Hector Ramirez described one wedding after twenty-nine years of watching me learn to take up less space. Not a life built with my own hands.

Not a business I had grown from a borrowed greenhouse, a secondhand microscope, and notebooks full of failed formulas. Not a marriage to a man who loved me without asking me to become smaller first. Everything.

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