And for the first time since Caleb packed his bag, I let a man hold me without feeling abandoned in advance.
The wedding was six days away.
By then, the whole story had changed and not changed at all.
I was still sick.
I still needed treatment.
My hair might fall out.
My body might break in ways I could not imagine yet.
The future was still a hallway with half the lights burned out.
But there was a door at the end now.
Maybe.
Maybe was enough.
Caleb called two days before the wedding.
I saw his name and froze.
Owen was at the kitchen table with my father, pretending to understand seating charts.
My mother was arguing with the florist about white roses versus ivory roses like the country depended on it.
My phone buzzed again.
CALEB.
Owen looked at the screen.
Then at me.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
I answered.
For a moment, there was only breathing.
Then Caleb said, “Emily.”
I used to love the way he said my name.
Like it had a soft place to land.
Now it sounded like someone touching something that no longer belonged to him.
“What do you want?”
He exhaled.
“I heard you’re still having the wedding.”
My eyes moved to Owen.
He looked away, giving me privacy without leaving.
“Yes.”
“With someone else?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
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