And right there at the altar, I realized the man I was about to marry had known exactly what happened to me.
The laughter hurt more than the bruise ever had.
Not everyone laughed fully. A few guests gave those uneasy half-smiles people wear when they aren’t sure if something is a joke or a confession. But enough of them laughed. Enough that my skin went cold. My mother pressed her lips together as if disapproving, though something pleased flickered in her eyes.
Rachel, standing just behind me, whispered, “Olivia, don’t do this. Not like this.”
But by then I wasn’t inside the wedding I had planned anymore. I was standing inside the truth.
I looked at Ethan.
“What did you just say?”
His smile faded into irritation, like I was causing a scene over something trivial.
“Don’t start,” he muttered quietly. “We’re in the middle of the ceremony.”
“No,” I said, louder now. “Tell them what you meant.”
The officiant took a nervous step back. My future in-laws shifted in their seats. My mother folded her arms—a gesture I had known since childhood as a warning.
Ethan leaned closer and lowered his voice.