Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Then the door opens.
“Oh, great—you’re both here,” Aidan says, his voice a little too cheerful. My mother’s beside him, wind-tousled and glowing.
“We were thinking we’d have to chase you down to share today’s great news,” she beams.
“What is it?” I ask, spoon halfway to my mouth.
“We eloped!”
“We’re married!”
They speak at the same time.
Everything inside me stops.
My hand slips. The glass of water beside the soup tips and crashes to the floor, shattering loud and sharp. My fingers twitch, useless. My heart is hammering too fast, too loud, and for a second I feel it—hot, rising nausea climbing up the back of my throat.
Cole goes still beside me.
He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. His jaw locks so tight I can see the veins in his neck strain. Then he sets his bowl down on the tray with slow, deliberate care.
“Look at my ring!” my mom squeals, thrusting her hand out like it’s the crown jewel. The diamond nearly blinds me. “Isn’t it perfect, Emily?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Cole stands.
“Can I talk to you?” he says, looking directly at Aidan. His voice is even, but underneath it is a quake.
“Now?” Aidan chuckles. “Can it wait?”
“No.” Cole’s tone sharpens. “It can’t.”
My mom doesn’t notice. She’s still spinning, still glowing, already halfway into her next sentence.
“We wanted to wait for a big wedding next year,” she says, “but then we realized—why wait? Why not just do it now and let everything else fall into place?”
Everything else.
Like us.
“We’ll have a ceremony for everyone next spring,” Aidan adds. “That gives us time to gel. Emily will be in college by then, and Cole’s moving out, so there’s no need to make this feel rushed.”
Cole lets out a single, humorless breath. Almost a laugh. But not quite.
“I said it can’t wait,” Cole says, tense.
“Son, we can step outside a little—”
“Now,” Cole demands.
He stalks past the tray, through the living room, and down the hallway. The door slams shut behind him. Loud. Final.
My mom barely flinches.
“He figured that would happen,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “Cole’s never really wanted his dad to remarry. We can’t take it personally.”
I try to breathe, but the air feels too thick.
“I’ll tell you the whole proposal story!” she chirps, already pulling out her phone. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”
I don’t want the story. I want to be anywhere but here.
But I can’t leave.
I can’t run—not with Cole storming out first.
Not without making this whole thing collapse.
So I stay.
I smile like I’m not unraveling.
She props up her phone and FaceTimes Samantha, squealing as she shows off the ring and launches into a story I’ll never forget, no matter how hard I try.
Dinner by the water. A dance on the sand. A trio of musicians. A perfect sunset. Aidan kneeling. Saying things like “You make me whole” and “I want to do forever with you.”
By the end of it, I’m not even listening.
All I hear is the echo of glass on tile. The sound of Cole walking away.
And the roar in my chest that feels too much like heartbreak to be anything else.
15A
EMILY
It’s been an hour.
The house is quiet, except for the soft hum of my mother’s voice drifting in and out of the dining room. She’s still admiring her ring under different lights, tilting her hand this way and that like she’s in a jewelry commercial, each sparkle confirming some new chapter in the fantasy she’s built for herself.
In another life—maybe even just a year ago—I would’ve been happy for her. I would’ve leaned in, asked for the full proposal story again, held her hand and gushed about the dress. But now, all I can feel is resentment. Because she got everything she wanted.
And I might’ve just lost the one thing I didn’t know I needed.
I haven’t moved from the couch. The soup has gone cold on the tray beside me, untouched. My fingers are still curled around the cushion like I’m bracing for impact.
Down the hall, a door slams.
Then—voices.
They start low, sharp around the edges. Cole’s voice carries first, hot and strained.
“…you didn’t even think to tell me—”
Aidan answers, too calm. That measured, press-ready tone he always uses when he’s trying to win a crowd.
“It’s not about you, Cole. This is bigger than your—”
“You don’t get to talk to me about bigger.”
The volume rises, both of them pushing over each other now. It’s impossible to make out everything, but fragments slice through the quiet like shrapnel.
“…years of pretending…”
“…always your image—never the truth—”
“…you should be grateful.”
Then a loud thud, the sharp crack of something heavy colliding with the wall or floor. My body jerks. My pulse skids out.
I want it to end. I want Cole to walk out of that room, climb the stairs two at a time, and knock on my door like he’s done every night since that first kiss. I want him to look at me—really look—and say something, anything, that makes this make sense.