I cast aside the wedding decorations I had meticulously prepared, letting them fall across the floor like discarded fragments of a life that had never truly belonged to me. The house, which I had imagined as ours, now felt hollow and foreign. Only the collection of tickets remained—the delicate tokens I had kept as a chronicle of my devotion to Kyle Blackthorne.
For a heartbeat, I hesitated, then set them aflame. Each ticket curling into smoke was a fragment of my love consumed, leaving only ash behind. The fire died, leaving a bitter smell in the air, just like the love that had once burned fiercely between us and now lay in ruin.
Morning arrived with the faint scent of breakfast drifting through the house, rousing me from my grief.
“Sandra, breakfast is ready. Hurry,” Kyle’s voice threaded through the mindlink, calm but persistent.
“You eat first. I’ll deliver the tray to Selindra myself,” I replied, keeping my tone deliberately neutral.
“Very well.”
Sensing my distance, Kyle carefully retrieved the first aid kit, cleaning and bandaging the bruises on my knee with meticulous precision. His touch, once comforting, now felt formal, almost clinical, yet attentive.
“Sandra,” he said quietly, his gaze steady, “we have been bound for years. Everything I have done has been for your good. I do not wish to see you without family on the day of our union.”
“You mentioned a maid of honor?” I asked, voice tight with controlled bitterness. “I have already asked Selindra. She agreed to take the role.”
Kyle’s amber eyes flickered with disbelief at my prompt acquiescence. He pressed a warm kiss to my hand, lingering, and I forced myself to remain unmoved.
After delivering breakfast to Selindra, he did not return. I scrubbed my hands, the sting of the soap grounding me in reality, when his voice pierced the quiet through our mindlink.
“Finish your meal and come to the garage. I shall be waiting.”
Arriving at the garage, I instinctively opened the front passenger door, only to find Selindra already seated there. Without a word, I took the rear seat. Kyle glanced at me a few times, a faint smile of satisfaction on his face at my quiet understanding.
“Selindra is skilled with jewelry,” he said lightly, “she will help you choose a ring that suits you perfectly.”
I closed my eyes, pretending to rest, but when I opened them again, I saw him lightly pinch Selindra’s cheek. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror, and he quickly explained, “She had something on her face. I was merely helping her.” I closed my eyes again, refusing to watch any further.
At the jeweler, Selindra immediately commanded attention, her presence precise and deliberate. The associate greeted her warmly, her poise radiating authority.
“What may I assist you with today, sir? Something special for your loved one?”
Both Kyle and Selindra flushed. He guided me closer. “Do not stand so far away. Come, select the ring.”
Selindra took control, inspecting each piece with a critical eye. “Too small. The color is wrong…” No other ring measured up to her standards. Finally, she presented a simple ring, a deliberate choice meant to overshadow me.
“Sandra, this will do for the wedding,” she said, pride and calculated generosity mingling in her tone. “I shall craft a more exquisite one later.”
The sales associate offered polite, awkward praise. Kyle, standing silently beside her, smiled softly, a springlike bloom meant entirely for her. He slid the ring onto my finger without ceremony. No kneeling, no roses, no proposal—only a ring deliberately small, meant to humiliate. I removed it silently, ignoring the suggestion to choose another.
“Let us finalize this. No need for further complication,” I said flatly.
Kyle’s lips pressed together. “If you are dissatisfied, we may commission another later.”
“No,” I said firmly. “This one is enough.”
Selindra’s eyes glistened with feigned remorse. “I shall work in the studio to ensure the wedding is perfect,” she said and left without a backward glance. Kyle’s attempts to call her back went unanswered.
“Why such fuss over a mere ring?” he asked, bewildered as he guided me from the store.
“What fuss? It is reality,” I said.
He held me briefly, the warmth of his embrace barely a salve. “Once work concludes, we shall travel. A honeymoon, with bridal portraits entwined in one journey,” he said. But his promise felt like mockery. He had no time to visit me in Lunaria, yet he had time for Selindra in Glaciara to see the penguins, in the North Tundra for the auroras.
Two days passed. He did not return. He was with Selindra, capturing staged memories, even photoshopping our faces into their bridal images. I went to the cemetery, leaving two bouquets and settling affairs with the caretaker, prepaying ten years’ fees. Even in the sanctuary of my parents’ resting place, Kyle’s absence stung like betrayal.
Then I heard the voice I would never forget. “Kyle, remarkable you remember this day. If my father knew you came to share a drink, he might rise to toast you himself.”
I turned stiffly to see Kyle flanked by Selindra and her mother ascending the cemetery steps. “This is my duty,” he said. The woman beside him, playfully scolding, accepted the informal title of “Mom” without hesitation.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I pressed on, meeting friends and revealing the wedding’s cancellation. They exchanged knowing looks and revealed photos of Kyle and Selindra at their pre-marital checkup, confirming their deception.
“Sandra,” they said, “we support your choice. Witnessing the bride absent from her own wedding, watching Selindra attempt to steal it—it will be unforgettable.”
The day before the wedding, Kyle arrived with new running shoes. I asked calmly, “Aren’t these against your preference?”
He patted my head, smiling faintly. “Tomorrow, I must run swiftly—with the bride on my back.”
Not me. Not for me. The delight he derived came from orchestrating my humiliation for Selindra’s sake.
I walked the venue, tearing my youthful image from the giant wedding posters, then fled to the airport. Kyle’s calls flooded in, but I ignored them, leaving the past—and him—behind.
---
The morning after, I returned home with a single resolve: the past would burn as completely as the tickets I had set alight. The house, once a dream of love, now felt like an empty vessel. I packed away every remnant of hope I had placed there, leaving only ash and the bitter scent of fire as a reminder of a decade’s devotion.
Kyle’s voice reached me again through the mindlink, soft yet insistent. “Sandra, come down. We must leave for the photoshoot.”
I opened the door to the garage, and there they were: Selindra poised beside him, every movement precise, every smile calculated. My heart tightened, but I refused to acknowledge it. I seated myself in the back silently, feeling every pulse of tension radiating between them through the mindlink.
“Selindra will ensure you find a ring suited to your hand,” Kyle said. “She is skilled with design.”
I closed my eyes, refusing to witness the performance. Even when he pinched her cheek, I would not allow my gaze to meet his.
At the jeweler, Selindra commanded the space. Her scrutiny of every ring left none suitable in comparison to the one she finally presented—a deliberate slight against me. “This will suffice for the wedding. I will craft another later,” she said, proud and calculated.
Kyle allowed her to lead, smiling softly at her demonstration of control, then slid the ring onto my finger without ceremony. No gesture, no proposal—only deliberate diminishment. I removed it silently, refusing to acknowledge the mockery.
“Let us finalize this,” I said, the finality in my tone shutting down argument.
Two days later, he did not return, occupied entirely with orchestrating staged memories and Photoshopped images of Selindra as bride. I visited the cemetery alone, tending my parents’ resting place, prepaying fees for ten years. Even there, his neglect stung with bitter clarity.
Then, the voice I could never forget: “Kyle, remarkable you remember this day.” I turned to see him climbing the steps with Selindra and her mother. “This is my duty,” he said lightly. Their casual ease was a dagger to my heart.
I reported the wedding’s cancellation to my friends, revealing the betrayal in stark relief. They nodded in silent approval, their glances conveying unspoken solidarity.
“Sandra,” they said, “we support your escape. Watching Selindra attempt to steal the wedding, with the bride absent—it will be a spectacle.”
The day before, Kyle delivered running shoes, joking about carrying a bride on his back. Not me. The smile on his face belonged entirely to his orchestrated humiliation, a cruel delight in proving loyalty to another.
I walked the venue, tearing down my youthful image from the posters, fleeing to the airport. His calls flooded in, but I silenced them, severing the past and leaving him behind, along with the hollow echoes of what we had once been.
