Chapter 2: The Reception and the Proposal That Wasn't

At the wedding venue, I stood at the edge of the crowd. My heels were already pinching, but I didn’t really care. The reception was bustling, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings, but I felt strangely outside of it all, like I was watching someone else’s life play out in real time.

My gaze, almost involuntarily, kept following Marcus. He looked like he belonged on a Ralph Lauren billboard—broad shoulders, easy smile, hair just a little too perfect. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, standing tall and straight, a gentle smile on his lips. That suit was probably rented, but on him it looked custom-made.

He was next to a bridesmaid. She held a red balloon, her eyes crinkling as she smiled, cheeks flushed pink. Every now and then, she’d lower her head and bite her lip, looking shy and sweet. The kind of girl my mom would call ‘adorable as a box of kittens.’

Marcus’s gaze never left her. The corners of his mouth were turned up in a faint, gentle smile. I could practically hear the whispers running through the crowd: isn’t he such a gentleman?

A sharp pain twisted in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I felt my hand curl around the stem of my champagne flute, knuckles whitening.

Am I just being too sensitive? Or am I seeing things that aren’t there, like some jealous girlfriend out of a bad rom-com?

Suddenly, Marcus took the bridesmaid’s phone, squatted down, and started taking photos for her. She struck pose after pose, and he was endlessly patient. He even crouched low, finding just the right angle—the kind of care he never seemed to give me anymore.

But when we went to Silver Hollow to see the maple trees this fall, he was impatient the whole time. I remember the crunch of leaves under our boots and the sharp bite of cider in the air. The leaves had been turning these incredible shades of scarlet and gold, the kind of Instagram gold that people drive hours for, and all he did was check his phone.

“What’s so great about taking pictures?”

He’d only snapped a few, and when I checked, they were all blurry silhouettes. I remember standing on the overlook, wishing he’d see me the way he saw the world through that lens.

A bitter taste rose in my heart. I swallowed it down, wishing it were as easy as that.

I’d thought this wedding would be a turning point for us.

He’d once said he had a surprise for me at the wedding. He’d said it with a glint in his eye, the same glint he had when we planned weekend road trips or built IKEA furniture together.

We both knew what that meant.

Eight years together.

He would propose when I caught the bouquet. That’s how it was supposed to go—the big moment, the happy tears, my friends screaming in the background. We’d even joked about it, half-mocking the old tradition.

But now, he stood beside another girl, smiling at her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I watched him with this dull ache, remembering all the times he used to smile at me like that.