At 2:17 that afternoon, my bouquet slipped from my hands and struck the bridal-suite floor after my sister texted, “Calm down. Nobody is coming.” The sound was far too small for something that felt like my entire heart collapsing — a quiet thump against the carpet as white peonies and eucalyptus scattered around my shoes. The room still smelled of hairspray and lukewarm hotel coffee. My phone glowed in my palm. Sophie had sent the message nineteen minutes before I was supposed to walk down the aisle. I read it three times, believing the words might hurt less if I stared long enough. They did not. Then an email from my mother appeared, four sentences long, ending with the deepest cut: “You will be fine without us, Hannah. Sophie’s evening is important.”

Without us. At my own wedding. My father was thirty-five minutes away, drinking champagne at Sophie’s engagement celebration. My brother Kyle was there too. My mother had bought a green dress specifically for my ceremony, then wore it to my sister’s party instead, smiling beneath someone else’s lights while three rows of empty chairs waited for relatives who had decided my wedding was optional. Then Ethan knocked once, entered the bridal suite, saw my face — and stopped.