What do you possibly mean by that?" Sophia asked. Her voice came out thin, tired, like it was holding itself together by two trembling threads.
She had been pacing in front of the seaside chapel for the last ten minutes, the satin hem of her wedding dress brushing against the tiled walkway, her phone pressed tightly to her ear.
Today was supposed to be her wedding day.
She and her college love, Adrian, were supposed to meet here by ten thirty a.m. and exchange vows overlooking the calm blue ocean.
The flowers had already been placed.
The arch she decorated herself swayed gently in the sea breeze.
The minister had been waiting. She had been waiting.
"Adrian, it's ten forty-five. Where are you?" she asked, her voice shaky, her fingers tightening around her phone.
There was a pause, the kind that said everything before words even came.
"Sophia... I'm not coming," Adrian said.
Sophia stopped pacing. Her entire body stilled. The world around her went oddly quiet, like her heartbeat swallowed all sound.
"What do you mean you're not coming?
We're supposed to get married today," she said again, each syllable trembling. This time, she felt something warm slide down her cheek. She tried to sniffle it back, careful not to ruin her makeup.
"Sophia," Adrian said, and his voice was distant, tired, like he had rehearsed this. "I don't think I love you enough to get married and live together."
She felt her heart drop to her stomach, heavy and cold.
They had planned everything together-late nights talking in small kitchens, saving loose bills and counting coins for a future they believed they were building.
They talked about sharing a home, building a quiet life where love was the most valuable thing they
owned. They didn't have much, but they had each other.
Or she thought they did.
"I won't pressure you about the house anymore," she forced out. Maybe the weight of responsibility scared him. Perhaps they were just overwhelmed. "We can wait. We'll
figure it out like always."
The reason they chose a private wedding was simple they didn't have family to invite. No parents. No cousins no aunts or uncles. Just them, together coupled with the fact that they didn't have the finances to fund a grand wedding.
They agreed love was enough.
"Adrian, honey aren't you coming?" a woman's voice called faintly in the background. A soft voice. Familiar. Too familiar.
Sophia froze.
She knew that voice.
She couldn't place it at first — her mind didn't want to.
"Who is that?" Sophia asked, her voice barely holding together.
"Are you imagining things now?" Adrian replied, but there was a strain in his voice.
But Sophia knew she had heard correctly.
Her heart didn't lie—her heart recognized betrayal.
She knew that voice. It was her maid of honor.
Her best friend.
Camila.
"Is that Camila?" she asked, tears falling freely now, splashing onto the bodice of her dress.
"Why would Camila be here?" Adrian asked?
Sophia had felt this possibility quietly for months.
The too-long glances. The excuses.
The quick phone call endings. The laughter stopped when she walked into the room.
And now it was all real.
"Sophia, go home," Adrian said, weary, like she was the inconvenience. "I'll come see
you tonight
"I'll wait here for you," Sophia said. Her voice sounded nothing like hers soft, desperate, small. "I will forgive you even if you cheated. Please just come. Don't leave me like this."
There was another silence.
"Okay, yes, Camila is here. And Sophia...
It's over between us. I can't marry you or stay with you. Let's just end it here," he said.
"No. No, please," Sophia begged, her face wet with tears. "Not like this. Please-"
But her pleas hit nothing. The call had already ended.
She tried to call again, fingers shaking so hard the phone almost slipped, but the line didn't go through
He had blocked her line.
Just like that.
Sophia's knees gave out. She sank to the stone steps outside the chapel, her white orchids slipping from her hands and landing softly beside her. She didn't care if anyone saw. She didn't care about the dress or the makeup or the prepared vows she'd written and rewritten a hundred times.
Her heart had been pulled out, torn apart, and left there in the open air.
She tried to catch her breath, but her chest hurt. Her throat burned. The world blurred
through her tears. She cried until her whole body trembled, until the waves and wind blurred into a dull hum.
But even then, she heard the conversation of a man who was standing less than a foot away from her.
A quiet, steady voice. Watching. Listening.
Present.
And she wasn't alone.