A loud bang echoed through the room as her phone slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. The screen lit up upon impact, accidentally playing a video.
A sweet, familiar voice poured out.
Theresa’s voice.
But the song, that was hers.
A love song she had poured her heart into, every lyric laced with the dreams and stolen moments she had shared with Weston. She had tucked it away beneath her pillow, never telling a soul.
Except that night. The night she got drunk and, in a haze of foolish courage, sang it for him.
Back then, she hadn’t understood why Weston had pushed her away. But now, she did.
He had wanted her to surrender. To understand that song had never belonged to her in the first place.
A bitter smile curled her lips.
"Brother, I will listen to you."
She had never called him that before. Never. She had always used his name.
But this… this was fine. Maybe it had always been meant to be this way.
Without so much as a glance, Weston pushed open the door.
And just like that, a bright, cheerful figure threw herself into his arms.
"Weston, look! What do you think of this dress for the wedding gown?"
Theresa’s face was flawless, framed by wisps of smoky makeup that accentuated her bright, adoring gaze. The wedding dress she wore was breathtaking, pure white silk cascading to the floor, its surface glimmering with diamonds that caught the light in a way that felt almost cruel.
She acted as though Brittany wasn’t even there, completely wrapped up in the euphoria of love.
It wasn’t until Weston cleared his throat that Theresa finally turned, feigning surprise.
"Oh! Brittany, sorry—I didn’t know you were coming back today."
She offered an awkward smile before playfully nudging Weston’s back. He responded with nothing but a soft, doting smile.
Brittany’s fingers curled at her sides.
That dress. She knew it well.
Because she had designed it.
The first time Theresa had stepped foot into this house, she had told Brittany that her feelings were unnatural, a disgrace, something that should never see the light of day.
Theresa had her sketch out her dream wedding dress, urging her to pretend she was wearing it and imagine, just once, marrying Weston.
And Brittany, naïve and desperate, had done exactly that.
Now, standing before her, Theresa was wearing that dream as if it had belonged to her all along.
And all Brittany knew was that it was truly a sight to behold, like a dream stitched in silk and lace.
There was no anger, no resentment, only a soft, almost imperceptible smile as if this was merely the natural course of things.
"Brittany, why aren’t you saying anything? Do you not like me wearing this dress? If so, I’ll take it off right away."
Theresa’s voice was sweet and hesitant, her fingers already reaching up as if ready to strip away the gown at the slightest disapproval.
Weston’s expression darkened. "Brittany, your sister-in-law is talking to you."
Brittany lifted her eyes, her gaze steady and unreadable.
For a moment, Weston felt something unfamiliar stir inside him.
By the time he registered it, she had already moved.
Silently, she stepped behind Theresa, her fingers gliding effortlessly over the tangled dress ties. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement, only quiet precision as she secured the loosened straps, pulling the gown into its intended shape.
"This is how the dress should be worn."
Weston watched her, his unease growing.
Something about her had shifted.
Gone was the fragile girl who once let her emotions flicker across her face. Now, she stood before him like a stranger, poised and distant, as if she had walked away from her past and never looked back.
Had the hospital truly changed her so completely?
He had only wanted to discipline her, to make her understand.
"Brittany, you—"
"Ah!"
Theresa’s scream shattered the moment, sharp and sudden.
The strap in Brittany’s hands was suddenly yanked, snapping apart with a sharp crack.
A breath later, the fabric at the back of the wedding dress tore open.
Theresa, caught entirely off guard, let out a startled gasp as she lost her balance, toppling straight to the ground.
She landed hard, a pained whimper escaping her lips. Faint bruises bloomed almost instantly on her delicate wrist and calf.
Tears welled up in her eyes, her shoulders trembling as she choked out soft, pitiful sobs.
"Weston… my wedding dress…"
"It’s okay, it’s okay. If the dress is ruined, we’ll just make a new one. I never really liked that design anyway. It barely did justice to even a fraction of your beauty."
Yet even as he spoke softly to Theresa, his eyes lifted, dark with anger, fixing Brittany with a glare that left no room for doubt.
Disappointment. Blame. A silent accusation that cut deeper than words.
