Left at the alter, married the enemy
Julian was gone, Selene with him, the door of the Pavilion closed behind them with that small, final click that I kept returning to, the way you return to the last page of a book to make sure the ending actually said what you thought it said.
A woman named Diane Marsh had walked into my wedding holding a folder, and my new husband had handled it with the particular composure of someone who had been handling difficult rooms his entire life.
Edna Calloway had told me, in so many words, that her son hadn’t looked that relaxed in years, and then walked away before either of us could decide what to do with that information.
And I had slept, somehow, through all of it. Deeply and without dreaming,