Hudson didn't say a word, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips told me everything I needed to know about what was stirring inside him.
Everyone knew the story. Eight years ago, Hudson had beaten a man half to death with a brick—all to punish some lowlife who'd been harassing Jean Swanson. He'd killed the man and thrown his own future into a prison cell along with the body.
They also knew I'd chased Hudson relentlessly, clinging to him like a lovesick fool no amount of rejection could shake, until I finally wore him down.
But what nobody knew was that Jean had fled the country the moment Hudson went to prison—terrified of being implicated—and left him to take the fall alone.
During the darkest chapter of his life, I was the one by his side.
When he pushed me away, he was the one who traveled over six hundred miles to bring me back.
It was him who swore to me, on everything he had, that he would never betray me. Not for anyone. Not even for Jean Swanson.
Countless nights, he held me so tight it hurt—afraid I'd vanish the way Jean had, afraid I'd leave him behind.
And now Jean was back. And every promise he'd ever made had turned to ash.
His choice had always been her. It had never changed. Not once.
The memories crumbled through me like rotting wood, eating me hollow from the inside, leaving nothing alive, nothing that could ever grow again.
This unrequited love should have ended a long time ago.
Hudson went rigid. His eyes locked onto mine, and for one unguarded second, I caught it—panic.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Jean beat him to it. Her tears dissolved into a radiant smile as she burrowed into his arms.
"Tabitha, thank you for taking care of Hudson these past eight years. But you have to understand—gratitude isn't love. Guilting someone into marrying you is just emotional blackmail."
"Besides, the one Hudson has always loved... is me."
She turned her head, physically blocking his line of sight to me, and looked up at him.
"So now that I'm back, will you marry me, Hudson?"
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe the question had blindsided him.
Hudson didn't answer right away.
"You just got back. There are things I need... time to sort out."
The light in Jean's eyes dimmed, a flicker of displeasure crossing her face.
Nelson jumped in to smooth things over. "Alright, alright—today's wedding still has Tabitha and Hudson's photos plastered everywhere. Even if there is a wedding, you'd have to start fresh, right?"
Hudson's throat tightened. He didn't deny it.
"Well then, congratulations in advance. Wishing you a happy marriage!"
"Thank you..."
Hudson actually thanked me.
The glare of the sun stung my eyes, made them burn. I forced the heat back down, swallowed it whole.
But the warmth pooling at the bottom of my chest had already frozen solid—a block of ice lodged behind my ribs, aching and cold.
Jean's eyes lit up again. She ducked her head, cheeks flushed, bashful.
"So that's how you feel. Then I'm willing to wait."
"Tabitha, when the time comes, will you be my maid of honor?"
"Sure." I clenched the fabric of my wedding dress, then let go. My gaze shifted to Hudson. "And if you need a best man, I can bring my own."
"Bring your own?" Jean's eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in exaggerated shock. "Tabitha, don't tell me you've been interested in someone else this whole time?"
"No wonder you weren't upset today—you even pushed Hudson and me together. So really, wouldn't you say I did you a favor?"
Hudson's hand was still holding Jean's. He didn't react.
Something inside me loosened. I laughed—a real laugh, light and unburdened.
"I've known him for a long time, actually. But I only just accepted his proposal. I'm at that age—might as well get married. One groom's as good as another. When the time comes, you and Mr. Farley are welcome to attend my wedding too."
Stunned silence rippled through the crowd.
No one had expected this. I'd just had my wedding hijacked in front of everyone, and here I stood—calm, composed, talking about marrying someone else.
Nelson pressed forward. "Who is it? Come on, Tabitha! Don't just say that to save face—tell us!"
I pulled out my phone and opened a chat thread—the message I'd received while I was taking off my makeup.
