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“What came over me?” I spit out, my voice hitting the ceiling of this hotel. No, it’s hitting the stars above us. “I won’t ask what you came over, since that’s abundantly clear now.”

My mother gasps, then whispers, “Language.”

I don’t point out there’s no language in my statement. Not to my pearl-clutching mom, who fingers the little white balls on her necklace as if it’s choking her.

Chad sets a gentle hand on my shoulder. I recoil, but he tries again, rubbing me soothingly like all I need to do is calm down. “There, there. If you were getting cold feet, you didn’t need to make up something like that. We could have just talked through it as healthy couples do.”

What kind of world am I living in? My eyes pop as I shake off his slithery hand. “Make it up? You left a voicemail about another woman on our wedding day!”

Chad rolls his eyes in that gentle, caring way again. “No one leaves voicemails anymore.”

That’s how he’s defending his infidelity? Like the anachronism of voicemail proves his innocence? “That was literally you singing to my foster kitten on my phone.” I wave the device in front of his face. It’s teeming with text message notifications, but who cares?

“I just explained the whole thing to your dad. Technology is amazing, isn’t it? I’m impressed you could pull off something so advanced,” Chad says with the smuggest smile I’ve ever seen.

Right. I spent late nights stitching together audio clips of his voice to frame him. Because that’s the kind of hobby soon-to-be brides take up between dress fittings and cake tastings. “Gaslight much?”

Chad patronizes me again. “But honey pie, we really should’ve just talked before you did something like that.

I know you can be prone to, well, perfectionism,” he says, twisting everything I’ve shared with him, like the lists I kept as a kid in notebook upon notebook.

“And if you didn’t think I was good enough for you, we could have discussed your ‘perfectionist’ concerns before all the guests showed up. ”

“That’s not what happened,” I seethe, but I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle with them.

My mother’s face pales, contrasting with the velvet rose shade of her Chanel lipstick.

She waves a hand in front of her face, like she must locate her smelling salts immediately.

“Do you realize what you’ve done, Sabrina?

I had to skip my hair appointment this morning to help with last-minute arrangements, and now you’re blowing up the wedding in front of everyone.

I’ll never be able to show my face at Pilates again. ”

Oh no, not the Pilates moms.

Chad gives her a comforting smile. “It’ll be okay, Mrs. Snow.

I’ll fix everything. You know how Sabrina can get when things feel…

overwhelming,” he says, and I want to wring his neck so hard, especially when he turns back to me, using the same saccharine tone.

“If you want to get back in there right now, I will happily take you as my bride, and we don’t have to speak of this ever again. ”

Who even is this man? How can he lie this fearlessly? “Maybe you didn’t get the memo, but… you just cheated on me .”

“No,” he says, like he’s coaxing a toy from a Border Collie. “I didn’t. And you really need to drop this routine.”

I jam my hands into my hair, not caring if I’m messing up my perfect hairstyle. Not even caring that I’ve knocked the tiara askew as I shout, “You got a blow job from Madison! ”

My father glares at me, his voice steel. “Your mother said no language.” He points an angry finger in the direction of the grand ballroom. “Are you going to get back in there like a reasonable adult? Or are you going to keep embarrassing all of us with this…this…performance?”

For a few seconds, guilt pricks at me and I wonder if I should have just left a note for the groom. Informed the wedding planner. Walked away quietly. But the fact that I didn’t even consider those options speaks volumes. “I wanted you to know the truth,” I say, holding my ground.

My father steps an inch closer. “The truth? Like that time you said you were too sick to compete in Junior Nationals, but did you really throw up? Or did you toss a can of soup into the toilet bowl and clutch your stomach dramatically?”

Shock reverberates through me. How could he think that? “I had the flu,” I choke out. “I could barely eat.”

“Or maybe you were just afraid to lose. Just like you’re afraid to walk down the aisle today, so you invent this fake song that only exists on your phone.”

My tears burst forth, unstoppable now. They are geysers. I’m replenishing all of the earth’s dry lakes and waterbeds with my pain. It’s not the cheating or even losing Chad that cuts deep. It’s realizing, once again, that my parents are more concerned with appearances than with me.

“Do you not understand what happened?” I say, my voice wobbly. “Chad’s only marrying me for the bonus you’ll pay him when he hits five years with your company in a few months!”

My father shuts his eyes, his jaw ticking, then opens them, his stony face unreadable, his gaze as hard as onyx.

“Listen to yourself, Sabrina,” he says in the quietest voice possible—one that slithers into my ear.

“This is a ridiculous tale. When a man cheats, he simply goes to a goddamn hotel room to fuck another woman. ”

My mother clings to his arm like she’s fainting. “Horrible,” she mutters.

“His language? No kidding,” I say.

“No, the details about cheating. I can’t bear to hear them,” my mom says with a dramatic sniffle as she fumbles through her bag for her signature lavender sachet for stress relief.

My father intervenes, dipping his hand in and finding it for her. “There, dear,” he says gently.

“Thank you, David,” she says, bringing it to her nose.

As she inhales, my father turns his full fury on me again. “Singing to a rescue kitten? Really, Sabrina? Is that the best you can do? It’s such an obvious lie. Also, the song rhymed. Clearly you made it up. You were always the creative one. Chad’s not a rhymer.”

My jaw drops. “My groom can’t rhyme? No one uses voicemail? Those are your arguments?”

“Those are just facts,” Chad says, chiming in like I care about his opinion now.

I wheel on him. “You have a deep misunderstanding of facts.”

“And you have a deep misunderstanding of what it means to be an adult,” my father cuts in. “You’re twenty-six. But you don’t want to grow up and get a real job.”

“I’m a skating coach,” I say.

My father rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real job. And to think, I’ve tried to give you work with my company, and this is how you repay me?”

Fine, since my role in the chorus at an ice-skating show ended recently, I’ve been doing some accounting for my dad’s company while I build out my coaching business. But they offered me the job.

Still, I can’t believe they’re blaming me for the cheating. Except, of course, I kind of can. “You really think this is my fault?” I manage to ask through the hurt and the shame .

My father crosses his arms. “Yes. This is unprofessional. This is unbecoming. This is uncouth. And I am cutting you off from the family business…unless…”

I’m reeling, backed against the wall. Not only did I get cheated on, not only did I get dumped, but I’ve also just been fired by my own family on my wedding day.

But it’s the insults that hurt the most.

Still, I lock onto that last word. I’m not sure I want to know what’s behind door number three, but I peer anyway. “Unless what?”

My father nods to Chad.

My former groom takes the baton, giving me one last sad look as he offers me his hand. “Unless you want to pretend this never happened.”

I look at his hand, imagining him touching Madison with that hand less than an hour ago as she got down on her knees. Then, him zipping up and having a good laugh at my expense, figuring I’d never find out.

But Furby was right—Chad’s a dumbass and the only thing worse than a dumbass is a cheating dumbass.

“You must really want your bonus,” I say to him.

Something flashes in Chad’s eyes—anger. Then he drags a hand through his perfectly gelled hair, a tell I’ve seen a hundred times before when he plays poker with the guys. When he tries to bluff with a five of hearts.

“If you need an hour to think about it, I’m sure we can work something out with the hotel,” he says, grasping at straws.

My father bites out: “This is your last warning. I didn’t build this family business just to let you disgrace it in front of everyone. You’ll apologize, or you’ll be out of work, out of a place to live, and out of our lives.”

They’re all staring at me like I’m the villain. Not Chad. Not Madison. But me .

The bride who ruined everything by telling the truth.

Maybe this is my fault for pulling a stunt. But deep down, I know that even if I’d pulled my father aside and talked to him privately, he’d never have believed me.

Maybe that’s why I made a production of it. Sometimes you have to be loud to get people to hear you. Even then, they don’t. I never realized how alone I could feel when surrounded by people who are supposed to love me.

I look at my mother with her lavender sachet security blanket, at my father with his cold, unflinching eyes, at Chad dragging his hand through his hair like the ruthless liar he is.

My stunt is the kind of “behavior” that would have gone on my list of what not to do again growing up.

But I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve come too far and worked too hard to claim what I deserve—respect from myself and others.

And I deserve better than a lying groom, a gaslighting father, and a mother more worried about Pilates moms than me.

I look down at the bouquet in my hand. I barely realized I was holding it this whole time. As I head to the door, I toss it over my shoulder. “Enjoy the halibut.”

“Where are you going? You didn’t drive yourself here,” Chad says, like I’m the idiot.

I lift my hand, waggling my phone. “Oh no, whatever will I do?”

I push open the door and take off, running in heels. I’m an athlete, and all those early morning miles I logged as a kid pay off now. I’m gone before anyone can even think about catching me. I could call one of my friends here today, like Leighton or Isla, but there’s not enough time.

I quickly order a Lyft to—think fast. I know! There’s an ice-skating rink nearby in Cozy Valley. I plug in the name as I sprint across the hotel grounds in this tulle-and-lace abomination, heading straight for the street. My getaway driver pulls up just as I check the app. Yup .

A black Prius, and the license plate checks out.

I slide in, breathless. “Hi, Rhonda. Can you help a girl out? I need to get out of town fast .”

“You want me to step on it? Just say the word.”

“Step on it.” Holy shit, that was fun to say.

The grandmotherly woman with a wicked smile eyes me up and down in the rearview mirror, then flashes a partner in crime smile. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this chance.”

She peels away like it’s a stunt.

But it’s not. It’s me taking my life back.