So it was going to be a one-shot. But, as suggested by Loveedith, I thought I should add Anthony's side of things.
Alone.
That was how it was meant to be. He'd been a fool to ever think otherwise. Worse than a fool – he'd almost sentenced that poor, sweet girl to a lifetime of servitude to an ageing, useless cripple. At least he had come to his senses in time to spare her that. She deserved so much more than him.
A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away in frustration. He never cried. Not as a child, when his mother would tell him he had to be strong and look after his little sister. Not when his mother died and his father told him, standing side by side next to her fresh and still unadorned grave, that real men do not cry. Not even during the war – neither for the pain of his injuries, nor for the senseless loss of young life he witnessed daily around him. But for her…
He had run blindly out of the church, not daring to look back at her, nor at all the other people who had crowded in to witness this spectacle of folly on his part. He was conscious of the embarrassment he would cause both her and her family. But it was better this way. She would recover, realise it had been a mistake from the start, and settle down with a nice, young chap who could give her everything he could not. Better for everyone he thought as he headed blindly in the direction of home. Not that he could bear to see the house, newly-decorated and waiting for its mistress who now would never arrive. But it was for the best. She would continue and flourish and he, he would just…disappear.