/0/86577/coverbig.jpg?v=7a6e41840625527617623f12ea175efd)
The church bells rang, but for the third time, my wedding day with Ethan Miller turned into a public humiliation. He arrived an hour late, not in a tuxedo, but carrying a small, sick girl with Chloe Davis, his "childhood friend," trailing behind. "Lily... she's my daughter, Ava," he stammered, accusing me of poisoning her right there in front of everyone. The prestigious architecture fellowship, my future, everything I'd given up for him, shattered as I was branded a monster. The flowers slipped from my numb fingers, scattering on the cold stone floor, a metaphor for the wreckage of my life. My humiliation was complete as he and Chloe, then the police, accused me, and I later found myself locked in the hospital morgue, left to freeze. Why was this happening? How could the man I loved believe such monstrous lies? I pulled the diamond ring off my finger, dropped it with a clatter, and walked away, done with him, with them, with all of it. I was choosing to live, to reclaim myself from the ruins he made, even if it meant burying the old Ava.