I sobbed into his shoulder until my ribs ached. I thought I had finally won the jackpot, and that every excuse, delay, and “not yet” had simply been the cost of something real.
We married that fall in a small ceremony.
Megan stood beside me as my maid of honor. Diane sat in the front row, dabbing at her eyes like an actress.
Our first anniversary was last Friday.
I want you to remember that date, because the night I thought would be the happiest night of my life became the night every story I had ever told myself collapsed.
Aaron had been planning it for weeks, or so he claimed. Candles glowed on the table; my favorite pasta simmered on the stove, and a bottle of red wine my husband said he had been saving since the wedding waited beside it.
He kissed my forehead in the doorway when I got home from work.
“Get refreshed. I want tonight to be perfect.”
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