Everything about the apartment screamed wedding planning, with dusty rose fabric samples taped to the refrigerator door beside scribbled notes about table runners and ribbon colors, small candles lined up on the counter like disciplined soldiers, and the mock invitation resting proudly on the dining table inside a cream envelope stamped with gold letters that read Audrey Bennett and Colin Brooks, which made it look less like a future plan and more like a commitment that had already sealed itself into reality.
Colin had left early that morning claiming he needed to run a quick errand, which could mean picking up miniature champagne bottles for the welcome bags or buying new socks because somehow he owned dozens yet none without holes, and I was not suspicious or worried because I believed we were stepping into the peaceful part of our life where the planning ended and the real happiness finally began.
His phone buzzed once on the marble counter, the small vibration lighting the screen just enough for my eyes to drift toward it automatically, and when I glanced at the notification I saw a name that immediately pulled a quiet knot inside my stomach.