Fiancé's Betrayal: My Fatal Wedding Gift

el

glare on the neat row of stitches marching across my forearm. The doctor, a you

voice gentle. "Are you here alone?

bandoned me to carry his mistress to safety? A stepsister who had orchestrated my public humiliation? My only real

A lump formed in my throa

rable, a voice cut through the s

aze

ocking the exit. He was holding a small paper bag from the

e us quite a scare." He turned to me, his smile congratulatory. "You

t of pure acid. Caring. Frant

softening as he looked at my band

ghts blur into streaks of indifferent color. Krista was in the passenger seat, a place that had always, exclusi

s, which was two sizes too big for her but served its p

le hum as she examined her perfectly manicured nails. "This seat is so

n' s eyes on me in the rearview mir

ag he' d been holding. "Here, this is for you. The best scar-prevention crea

heart. And they hit their mark. I felt the impact like a physical blow, a sharp, stabbing

l, choked gasp, because Harden'

ce laced with impatience. "It' s just a

cheerful, oblivious buzz that filled a car thick with my silent anguish. My pain, my b

ng venues tomorrow," Harden

o utterly grotesque in this context,

will need to come. After all, she' s the bride. I can hel

berate jab, a reminder of h

you walk down the aisle, Hazel. You' ll be the most beautiful bride in the world." It al

lly said, my voice thin and reedy

. Then Krista can try on the dresses for you. We

ee her in white, to picture her as his bride, while I was relegated to the role of a sickly, inconve

er me. He didn't just want to re

flat, devoid of all emotion.

stion. "Of course we are," he said, but his tone

ile playing on my lips. "Good. Because I have a ve

backward glance, leaving him to stare after me with a flicker of something I couldn't quite decipher i