ia

g. For a second, I didn't even know where I was-until the cold bite of the fl

elt like they were pressing me into the ground, crus

cheeks tight with dried salt. I pushed myself up slowly, every movement relu

could have stayed there. But it came anyway. The voice. The order. "Go

nd yet-most women in my position would be grateful. No awkward f

t I had. I'd imagined it a hundred different ways-not alway

like me. He'd made that much clear. I sh

wn my cheeks-mascara, eyeliner, whatever my mother's makeup artist had caked on my face earlier that day. My hair was a tan

the door, easing it open just enough to peek through. No sign of

I padded out quietly, the hem of my wrinkled dress whispering

t sharp. From the ot

ybe he'd tripped. Or

different sound entirely. Muffled at first, as

mach d

o listen. It couldn't be.

again, unmistak

mo

any moan.

irt. No. No, I must be wrong. Maybe it was

reathless. Followed by

slow, shaking steps across the carpet toward h

insis

t this... This was different. This wa

and hovering at my side. I should walk

, I lea

d, I closed my eyes, every

worse l

ow curses. The bed creaked, a steady rhythm, and my breat

ould rub away. The deep kind, the ugly ki

B*st*rd. Pig. Son of a b*tch. It didn't make it better. It didn't sto

wedding

dding

eone else, while his wife stood in the hallw

lf for react

other than a stupid teenage crush. This wasn't a real marriage

s the sound of bodies colliding filled the air. "F*ck, you're splitting my sides. That'

l tone, followed by a scream from

ne hand covering my mouth because I felt like I might throw up at any moment.