An hour later, I was led outside toward the ceremony site. The seating area had been rearranged in a quiet flurry. My name card, which I later found out had originally been placed at a side table near the catering entrance—literally the kitchen corridor—was gone.
In its place, there was a chair in the front row, beside Daniel’s.
Guests watched as we walked down the aisle before the ceremony began, whispers rippling behind fans and champagne smiles. I kept my face calm, my spine straight. I wasn’t here to punish anyone. I was here to exist.
When the music swelled and Clare appeared at the top of the aisle, something in her expression shifted. She looked past the crowd, found me, and her face cracked open with surprise and something like grief. As she walked, her eyes stayed on mine for one long moment, and I mouthed, You’re beautiful.
She started crying, and for the first time that weekend, it didn’t look like performance.
It looked like truth.