My parents ignored my wedding, but when they saw my Esie 135K Porsche on Instagram, Mom called, “We need to talk. Family meeting tomorrow.” I showed up with a surprise.
I stand alone in the bridal suite at Walnut Valley Vineyard, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
My wedding dress fits perfectly, every seam and crystal exactly where it should be. The makeup artist outdid herself. My eyes look wider, my cheekbones more defined, my lips the perfect shade of rose.
The white roses in my bouquet rest on the vanity, waiting.
I check my phone for the fourteenth time in twenty minutes. No messages from Mom. Nothing from Dad.
Not even a text from Logan.
A soft knock at the door breaks the silence. Martha, the wedding planner, pokes her head in, her practiced smile barely hiding her concern.
“It’s time, Caroline. Are you ready?”
My eyes drift to the window overlooking the ceremony space.
Ninety guests are seated in neat white chairs. The string quartet plays softly. Probablyies and pottedities haved.
And in the front row, three empty seats stare back at me like accusations.
“They’re not coming, are they?”
My voice trembles despite my best efforts.
Martha’s smile falters. “There’s still time,” she says.
But we both know it’s a lie.
I take a deep breath and smooth the silk of my gown.
“Let’s go.”
The doors to the garden open and ninety heads turn to watch me walk alone down the aisle. I feel their sympathetic gazes like physical touches, little pats of pity that make my skin crawl.
Some whisper behind cupped hands. Others offer encouraging smiles that only make the hollow feeling in my chest expand.
My focus narrows to Ethan, waiting at the altar, his eyes steady on mine. The love radiating from him is almost enough to push away the memory of my mother’s voice three days ago.
“We’ll try, sweetie.
Logan’s firm has an event that weekend.”
Mom’s dismissive tone had cut through the phone like she was declining a casual lunch invitation, not her only daughter’s wedding.
“I can pay for the flights,” I’d offered, desperation clawing at my throat. “The hotel. Anything.
Please, Mom.”
In the background, Dad’s voice had drifted through. “Tell her we’re busy now.”
Placing one foot in front of the other, I force myself to breathe. In, out.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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