Above Ruins
Hotel room. Chilled air. Sat by the window. City lights glittered below. Bustling. Alive. Unrelated. Phone silent. Mark hadn’t called. No texts. Lia hadn’t messaged—likely lost in "goddess-sister agreed" ecstasy. Fine. I craved utter stillness. Body exhausted. Mind oddly lucid—drenched in ice. Anger? Faded. Grief? Smothered by numbness. Only profound weariness. And… detachment. As if my soul floated, coldly surveying the rubble below. My love. Trust. Planned future. All debris. While the man who nearly became my husband built another mirage with another girl on its far side.
That girl naively invited me to cut its ribbon. Absurd as a dark comedy. My lip twitched, no smile forming. I clicked Lia’s social feed. Her latest post—moments ago. Mark’s back against a window (their place, likely), gazeless. Atmospheric shot. Caption: "My anchor. Tired? Lean on me. #fiancé #safe harbor" My anchor. Once mine. Now rot-infested, wormed with lies. And I. To attend his wedding. Stand beside the girl calling him "anchor." Why? To watch it fall? For closure? Or… to see Mark’s final expression? Unknown. Only certainty: I must go.
Fitting the Gown
Lia chose a renowned bridal boutique. I applied makeup, masking pallor. Simple dress on. Entered. Dazzling white gowns. Air sweet with perfume and dreams. Spotting me, Lia fluttered over like a sparrow. "Sister Amy! You came! Wonderful!" She linked my arm, naturally intimate. She’d dressed up—makeup flawless, petite dress, princess-like. Eyes sparkling with wedding dreams and affection for me. "Picked bridesmaid options! Come see! You’ll rock anything!" She led me inward. Her pure trust pricked my heart—subtle, constant pain.
Staff wheeled exquisite gowns—champagne, slate-blue, blush. Lovely. Lia held a champagne strapless to me: "This! Your collarbones—stunning!" Then a slate-blue one-shoulder: "This one’s ethereal! Fits your grace!" I watched her excitement—like a girl dressing her bestie. If she knew the truth, how terrified she’d be? "I’ll try this." I pointed to the simplest haze-blue V-neck. Understated. "Huh? Too plain?" Lia wavered. "Subtlety suits. You’re the star," I said. Lia paused, beaming brighter. "Sister Amy, you’re so thoughtful!" She asked staff for it. Fitting room.
Cold silk touched skin. Mirror-me: calm face, eyes barren. I slipped on the haze-blue gown. Color heightened my pallor. Stepped out. "Wow!" Lia and staff gasped. "Gorgeous! Simple yet chic! So elegant! You glow!" Lia circled, sincere. Staff agreed: "Indeed. Your poise elevates anything. This shade exudes refinement." "This one! Final!" Lia decided. She grabbed her phone: "Sister Amy, let’s commemorate!" She leaned in, arm linked, head tilting toward my shoulder. Beaming radiantly. In the lens, her smile dazzled. Mine… ice-thin, barely concealing frigid depths.
NEXT >>
Hotel room. Chilled air. Sat by the window. City lights glittered below. Bustling. Alive. Unrelated. Phone silent. Mark hadn’t called. No texts. Lia hadn’t messaged—likely lost in "goddess-sister agreed" ecstasy. Fine. I craved utter stillness. Body exhausted. Mind oddly lucid—drenched in ice. Anger? Faded. Grief? Smothered by numbness. Only profound weariness. And… detachment. As if my soul floated, coldly surveying the rubble below. My love. Trust. Planned future. All debris. While the man who nearly became my husband built another mirage with another girl on its far side.
That girl naively invited me to cut its ribbon. Absurd as a dark comedy. My lip twitched, no smile forming. I clicked Lia’s social feed. Her latest post—moments ago. Mark’s back against a window (their place, likely), gazeless. Atmospheric shot. Caption: "My anchor. Tired? Lean on me. #fiancé #safe harbor" My anchor. Once mine. Now rot-infested, wormed with lies. And I. To attend his wedding. Stand beside the girl calling him "anchor." Why? To watch it fall? For closure? Or… to see Mark’s final expression? Unknown. Only certainty: I must go.
Fitting the Gown
Lia chose a renowned bridal boutique. I applied makeup, masking pallor. Simple dress on. Entered. Dazzling white gowns. Air sweet with perfume and dreams. Spotting me, Lia fluttered over like a sparrow. "Sister Amy! You came! Wonderful!" She linked my arm, naturally intimate. She’d dressed up—makeup flawless, petite dress, princess-like. Eyes sparkling with wedding dreams and affection for me. "Picked bridesmaid options! Come see! You’ll rock anything!" She led me inward. Her pure trust pricked my heart—subtle, constant pain.
Staff wheeled exquisite gowns—champagne, slate-blue, blush. Lovely. Lia held a champagne strapless to me: "This! Your collarbones—stunning!" Then a slate-blue one-shoulder: "This one’s ethereal! Fits your grace!" I watched her excitement—like a girl dressing her bestie. If she knew the truth, how terrified she’d be? "I’ll try this." I pointed to the simplest haze-blue V-neck. Understated. "Huh? Too plain?" Lia wavered. "Subtlety suits. You’re the star," I said. Lia paused, beaming brighter. "Sister Amy, you’re so thoughtful!" She asked staff for it. Fitting room.
Cold silk touched skin. Mirror-me: calm face, eyes barren. I slipped on the haze-blue gown. Color heightened my pallor. Stepped out. "Wow!" Lia and staff gasped. "Gorgeous! Simple yet chic! So elegant! You glow!" Lia circled, sincere. Staff agreed: "Indeed. Your poise elevates anything. This shade exudes refinement." "This one! Final!" Lia decided. She grabbed her phone: "Sister Amy, let’s commemorate!" She leaned in, arm linked, head tilting toward my shoulder. Beaming radiantly. In the lens, her smile dazzled. Mine… ice-thin, barely concealing frigid depths.
NEXT >>
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