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Page 53 of Before I Say I Don’t

TWO YEARS LATER

T wo years later, I was holding my son in my arms with my husband at my side.

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and baby lotion, and the sound of soft coos filled the air.

I was still sweaty, still riding the adrenaline wave with my arms wrapped around the tiny, perfect human I had just brought into the world.

Roman sat next to me on the hospital bed, his arm draped protectively behind me, grinning like he had just won the lottery.

Across from us, Danica stood with tears streaking down her cheeks, fanning herself.

“Sis, he is so handsome,” she sniffled. “He’s got your greedy appetite and Roman’s little mean mug already.”

Roman chuckled low in his throat, pride practically radiating off him. “That’s my boy. He’s gonna be just like me… minus all the bullshit I had to learn the hard way.”

I glanced around the room, thinking about everything that had changed since the disaster of a wedding that should’ve broken me but instead built me up.

Roman and I got married a year after that day, and I never once doubted my choice.

He was my soulmate—steady, unapologetic, and consistent.

He treated me the same from day one, and I knew he’d never have to “grow into” the man I needed… because he already was.

Danica? Sis, blew up. After that wedding, her business went from booked-and-busy to booked out for a year.

People weren’t just hiring her for her eye for detail anymore—they wanted the Danica Experience : flawless décor, sharp wit, and the kind of crisis management skills that could turn a whole scandal into a standing ovation.

Her name started getting mentioned in the same breath as the biggest planners in the country.

And because she’s Danica—never one to leave well enough alone—she went and signed up for criminal justice classes.

Said she needed to “make sure her sentencing skills were legally sound.” I told her she just wanted another reason to bang gavels and threaten folks with hard time. She laughed… but she didn’t deny it.

Renee—the wife from the wedding who never really was—stood near the window holding a bouquet of yellow tulips.

If someone had told me two years ago she’d be one of the people in my close circle, I would’ve laughed them out of my house.

But… life has a way of turning women into allies when money and purpose are involved.

Renee had become one of my closest friends, business partner, and the person who reminded me that survival and success are best served with a side of petty when necessary.

Taryn and I never became ‘friends’—but we never became enemies either.

We follow each other on social media, like each other’s posts, drop a “Happy Birthday” here and there, and every once in a while she’ll comment on an outfit—vice versa—or a picture of me with Roman.

That’s about as far as our communication goes, and honestly?

That’s enough. It would’ve been awkward to force a friendship with one of the mothers of Viangelo’s children.

But there was no animosity between us, and that mattered more than anything.

As for Kendall? Taryn cut her off completely.

She realized Kendall had been fake all along—never telling her about me, keeping Viangelo’s secrets, and how easily she threw Jayla under the bus at the wedding when everything came to light.

That wasn’t loyalty or family; that was survival at anyone’s expense, and Taryn wanted no part of it.

Whatever bond they had crumbled that day.

Taryn told me once, indirectly through a comment, that she was done surrounding herself with “people” who couldn’t be trusted.

If nothing else, the whole ordeal taught me this: sometimes people get their wake-up call at the same time you get your closure.

Jayla… well, she got exactly what she signed up for.

She’s a single mother now, working at Dollar General, from what I heard.

She had a daughter too—spitting image of Viangelo, down to the eyes that never told the truth.

Jayla never reached out to me again—not that I would’ve answered if she had.

Still, every once in a while, I’d see her posts floating across social media.

And the thing about social media? Even when people don’t say it out loud, you can feel their regret.

Jayla knew she had lost a real friend, and that kind of loss is heavier than most people admit.

So she kept posting, kept smiling, kept pretending like she didn’t care.

But deep down? Jayla knew she’d spend the rest of her life wishing she’d played her role better.

Surprisingly, Zaria and I still kept in contact.

We didn’t communicate every day, not even every week—just every blue moon when life slowed down enough for us to check in.

She had found her a man, one who actually treated her the way she deserved.

The last time we talked, she told me she was expecting a baby soon.

Despite everything that went down between us, I was genuinely happy for her.

Sometimes people grow apart, sometimes they circle back, but every now and then you just have to let the past sit where it was and be glad everyone made it out alive.

As for Viangelo… oh, that man’s fall from grace was chef’s-kiss perfect.

He lost it all—the job, the money, the image.

And then came the kicker. Two days after the ‘wedding’ he went to jail for a year and a half on fraud charges once the truth about his fake ID and shady dealings finally caught up with him.

No high-priced suit or slick tongue could talk him out of that.

His sister and mama weren’t charged, though they both had to sit in the mess he created.

Viangelo tried writing me letters, tried calling from the inside, even tried having people reach out on his behalf.

I blocked him at every turn. The one time I had to show up at the jail?

I made it clear—in no uncertain terms—that if he so much as mentioned my name again, I’d make sure he caught more charges before he ever tasted freedom.

Needless to say, I guess he learned how to keep my name out of his mouth.

Last I heard, he was back living with his mama—the same woman who helped cover his lies—because no one would hire him.

His name was dirt in every circle that mattered.

He was scraping by doing odd jobs, still dressed like he had money, still talking like he had connections, but everybody knew he was just broke and bitter.

Baby, karma doesn’t miss. She might take her time, but she’s undefeated.

Then there was me… Oh, I just kept winning.

The wedding showdown didn’t ruin me; it built me.

It became the very thing that set my name on fire.

Clips of me dragging Viangelo and flipping that wedding into a courtroom, went viral.

Judges, clients, and even strangers from other parts of the world wanted to know who the hell I was and how I carried myself with that much poise under pressure.

My inbox turned into a waiting list, and my calendar stayed slammed.

And the firm? It wasn’t just my workplace anymore; it was my playground.

Every now and then, I thanked Viangelo privately—for fuckin’ up.

Because if he hadn’t, the whole world wouldn’t have gotten to see what I was really made of.

And if I’m being honest, I might not have ended up exactly where I was meant to be…

with Roman—the man who stood beside me in the wreckage, who never once flinched when the truth got ugly, who turned my “I don’t” into the most powerful “I do” I’ve ever spoken.

We built something real , something steady.

We didn’t just love; we planned, laughed and put down roots.

A marriage license, a home filled with warmth, and a baby boy reminded me that sometimes the right ending doesn’t look like a fairytale at all; it looks like peace, patience, partnership and finally being chosen in full.

And that’s something Viangelo could never give me.

Roman had returned to the West Coast for just one month after the wedding to wrap up his notice and tie off loose ends.

Then he came back to me and never left… not once.

He didn’t just stand beside me in love; he stepped into the trenches of the legal world with me.

Together, we started laying the foundation for something bigger, something ours: R it was setting me up for this moment.

All I can only say is—thank you, God. Thank you for closed doors, for the pain I thought I couldn’t carry, and for the truth that burned but freed me anyway. Because all of it—every detour, every heartbreak—led me here.

To peace. To love. To family.

And damn, it feels good.

To whoever’s reading this, take it from me before you say, “I do,” and make sure you’re saying it to someone who gives you peace, not problems. Don’t marry a walking red flag in a rented tux.

Love doesn’t cover lies, and commitment doesn’t cancel character.

Trust me… choosing right could save your heart, your future, your sanity, a dress, a lawyer’s retainer, and the urge to bleach his clothes at 3 a.m.

Or… you just might end up saying, “I don’t” at the altar like I did.

Best wedding gift I ever gave myself.

—Kamira Hill

The End

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