The flowers were breathtaking, they were white lilies as they adorned the dressing room, filling every available surface, nook and cranny with their presence. Outside, she could hear the murmur of the guests and they conversed and milled about, taking in the decorations and comparing it to any of their previously attended weddings. She had to admit, the church did look beautiful, picturesque, as if it was a photograph taken from a high end magazine. Her mother had outdone herself. A now bustling and proud member of the 'Burg society. It was to be the event of the year. The wedding of all weddings. A magical day, that would lead her onto the next stage of her life.
Except...
Except it didn't feel like freedom. It didn't feel magical. It didn't feel like a breath of fresh air as one chapter closes and another begins.
It felt...hollow.
Like she was the shell of her former self.
She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She was stunning, beautiful, done to the nines. She looked like a bride, like a model, and like a prisoner.
She couldn't fault anyone but herself for the emptiness in her eyes.
She had agreed to be married. But, it was out of loneliness, pity and self preservation. Not out of love.
She didn't want to be alone. But he never came to her, promising someday. He never professed his feelings for her when she told him of her engagement. There were no more late night visits or stolen kisses.
She laughed bitterly at the situation she had placed herself in.
She felt like an angel who had been stripped of her wings.
She kept glancing outside, praying for a miracle. For God to give her the courage to do what she needed to do, or for God to deliver her salvation, in the form of a roaring black Porsche.
But it never came.
She should have known.
Enraged she picked up a vase of perfect flowers, a representation of what she could never be, and flung it at the mirror, shattering her image of herself.
A card fell out, and fluttered to the table, becoming soaked in the remainders of perfection.
Shaking, she picked it up and opened it.
The handwriting was a familiar scrawl, forcing her heart into palpitations. Her throat became dry and her eyes filled with tears and she read the note.
I miss you
I love you.
I' m sorry.
There was no signature. But she knew who it was from.
The knock at the door only pronounced her shaking form. She knew who it was. He wanted a peek, he would say the boys missed her and that thirty minutes was too long.
What this what she wanted to resign herself to?
She was beginning to understand that alone was better then hollow.
Even dead was better then hollow.
They needed to talk.