The messages came one after another, but I stayed calm, like none of it mattered.
I wasn't losing my mind. I knew exactly what I was doing.
If this was the ending my mother wanted to see, I'd make sure she got a front-row seat.
The day of the wedding arrived.
I wore a wedding dress that didn't fit, a stiff smile plastered across my face from start to finish.
The guests whispered among themselves.
"Has Irene lost her mind? She's marrying a man older than her own mother."
"Right? And this is his fourth marriage. I heard all four of his ex-wives died of cancer. What could she possibly see in him?"
"She's probably no prize herself. That's the only way you end up in a match like this."
Rhys watched me, his expression unreadable—confusion, bewilderment, heartache, and beneath it all, a thread of something sharper. Something close to resentment.
My gaze drifted past him, unfocused, floating somewhere above his head.
Even if we'd never broken up, we wouldn't have ended up together. There was no point adding more regret to the pile.