Curtis threw himself into wedding planning with infectious enthusiasm, browsing gowns and rings, consulting event planners.
I watched it all from behind a pane of frosted glass, like a silent film that had nothing to do with me.
His excitement and anticipation seemed genuine enough, yet none of it stirred even a spark of hope in my chest.
Then came the night of the proposal.
Curtis wore a tailored suit. He lowered himself onto one knee.
Before a single word left his mouth, he saw Lena clap a hand over her mouth and storm out, slamming the door behind her.
He looked at me, guilt already flooding his face, and moved to go after her.
I grabbed his hand. All I wanted was to hold on to one last scrap of dignity.
"Can you at least wait until this is over?"
Curtis froze for a second. Then, one by one, he pried my fingers loose and walked out without looking back.
I was left standing there, alone, surrounded by the pitying stares and barely concealed smirks of every friend in the room.
Like a glutton for punishment, I followed.
He caught up to Lena outside and pulled her back by the arm.
Their eyes locked. The moment he saw how red and swollen hers were, Curtis caved first.