Disclaimer: The poem from "Ten things I hate about you" is not mine. Neither is Charming's line to Emma (Someday, you'll be back here…). I stole it from Juno! Credit where it's due! Oh, and no, I do not own Once Upon a Time. If I did, I wouldn't be having canned soup for dinner. #dirt-poor writer

A/N: Thanks for your support, everyone! I loooove it when you review! I actually love it so much that I write even faster! XD Besides, I just couldn't wait to finish writing about Neal's heartbreak. After Chapter 8 ended up being pretyy much all about Emma's feelings, I found it fair to dedicate this one to our beloved troubled thief Nealfire. Angst ahead! Be warned! Humor shall return, so do not give up hope!

Chapter 10: There is a swan in your chest

Neal's eyes shifted from his father's face to August.

He felt like telling both of them to take a hike, then he could go out to hot wire one of the fancy cars parked outside the wedding hall and just drive away. His mind was a mess. His feelings were a mess. His suit was a mess.

And yet, there they were, staring at him, waiting for him to decide.

What the hell was there to decide, anyway? As far as he was concerned, Tamara was waiting for him so that they could get married. He had no idea whatsoever what was going on in his mind when he agreed to tie the knot with her, in the first place – he had kind of proposed once, to the mother of his son, in some cheap roadside motel, and after all the heartache that followed, he had sworn to himself never to let anyone in again. He had hung out with Tamara, she was a nice girl, good company, she helped him feel less lonely. True to all. But he couldn't see her as the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Not now, not ever.

Still, somewhere along the line he had proposed to her, given her a diamond ring and all. Then she was sleeping at his place and leaving her stuff in the basement, but he didn't even remember when or where they had officially become a couple. And then… then Emma had found him. That he could remember very clearly. Way too clearly. The day when they were strolling down the streets of Manhattan, talking, just… talking, and he saw her smiling again, after eleven years… So beautiful, so different: she had turned into such a stunning woman.

But then, in his eyes, she had always been stunning. He used to love her glasses. And her ponytail. And her girlish smile – the prettiest one he had ever seen.

He remembered once, when they went camping in Tillamook. That was one of the very few little luxuries they could afford, camping. For a few bucks, they would rent a tent, take a decent warm shower, and eat whatever they had with them as they made a fire and looked at the stars. In Cape Lookout, the plus was the view to the ocean. Emma would stay hours just looking at it, as she told him stories of her life, and he listened, in silence. She hadn't had a good life, and in times like those he would catch himself wishing he had met her earlier, so that he could have spared at least some of the suffering she had endured. He would have protected her. He would have given her everything he had, which was not much, but still... And then, his thoughts would be interrupted by a silent tear running down her face, and he would quickly crack some stupid joke about the mosquito bites on her legs, just to stop the tears and see her smile again…

That night, as they roasted their last marshmallows and listened to the waves crashing ahead, she smiled at another of his silly jokes, and he accidentally let it slip that he would only have children with her if she promised that they would have her smile.

She had promised they would, and soon enough the marshmallows were tossed to the side, just like the rest of the world. Just like his nightmares, their heartache, their sad stories.

Years later, now without his partner in crime, he found himself in Tillamook again. Staring at the same waves, even renting the same tent, but knowing that he would never feel the same way he did that night, not after they had parted. He ended up making it a habit to go to Camp Lookout when loneliness hit him hard, because other than the bug, which he no longer had, that was their place. Every time he sat there, under a tree, and started a fire as he looked at the ocean, he could truly feel Emma Swan was there with him, smiling as she sat by his side.

It had been like that for many years, until the soothing comfort of her ghost slowly became a torture as the choice of letting her go charged its price, and bitterness and guilt clawed their way into his heart, crushing all the dreams and plans they had made. He started wishing he had done things differently. That he had talked to her before leaving, explained himself. Above all, he wished he had done time instead of her. He had walked out of her life so that she could have the life that she deserved, but in the process he had burdened her with even more bitter memories, as if she needed any more of those. To think that all he had ever wanted was to see her smile… What a crap job he had done.

He had failed her, and every single day of those eleven years had reminded him of that.

And then, that day in Manhattan, when he thought all hope was gone, Emma made her way back into his life. He found out that she had had his son, and that she somehow had managed to keep her promise… Henry did remind him of her when he smiled.

But at the end of the day, the boy also reminded him of how cruel life had been to Emma after he left, and he hated himself even more. She had given birth to their child in jail. He wasn't there, by her side, to hold her hand and tell her to breathe. He wasn't there to hear Henry's first words, and neither was she. They both had missed his first steps, his first day at school, and in the end, he couldn't help but feel that it was all his fault. All those extra lines of sadness and sorrow in Emma's story, and in Henry's, and in his, had been the result of his actions.

How could he have imagined that she would wait for him, even after all that pain? How could he have expected to see that spark of hope in her eyes as they approached the car parked a few feet away from them, a minute before Tamara showed up?

He remembered it all, way too clearly: the look in Emma's eyes, and him feeling like crap, again. Emma was back, and for a split second, there had been hope for them. Destiny had given him a second chance, but he had flushed it down the toilet. And then a third, when Emma called him earlier that morning.

He had managed to screw everything up every single time.

He let his bottled up emotions wash over him as he went back into the groom's room and trashed it until it was nothing but a pile of rubble. His knuckles were bleeding after he punched the mirror over the dresser, and he looked at the crimson streaks running towards his wrist as angry tears poured down his face.

He had it coming. This time, he had no one to blame but himself. It hadn't been his father and his stupid curse. It hadn't been August either. It had been him. He had walked out on the woman he loved. He had given up. He had pushed her away.

And now he was about to pay the price for his stupidity.

He closed his eyes, and waited until his heart and mind came to terms with what he was about to do, which took many excruciatingly long minutes. When he finally walked outside to see the other two men, his eyes were cold, and his voice, quiet and hoarse.

"I'm gonna need a shower. A new vest. A shirt," he said, letting his eyes fall upon his bleeding hand. "And maybe some stitches."

"Son?"

"What?"

"What is it going to be?"

"What do you mean, 'what is it going to be'?"

August watched their little exchange with a look of disbelief in his eyes. From what he had understood so far, after the very long instants of silence that preceded Baelfire going into the groom's room to tear it apart, his friend had come to the conclusion he should still get married?

Nah. He probably hadn't gotten that right.

"Baelfire, you can't be serious," he said at last.

"Look, consider yourself uninvited," Neal answered, sporting his best I-don't-give-a-fuck look. "Both of you. I don't care. I'm gonna do what I have to."

"You don't have to do anything," August replied.

"Excuse me, but… who the hell are you to give me advice?" Neal was glancing daggers at the other man as he spoke again. "You, of all people?"

"I'm just trying to help."

"Don't bother. I don't… I don't need your help."

Before the situation got even worse – if that was remotely possible – Rumplestiltskin took a step forward and stared at his son for a long minute.

"Can I ask you just one thing?" he asked.

"You have one minute."

Neal crossed his arms and tried not to wince as his injured hand rubbed against the fabric of his jacket.

"Why?" he heard his father ask.

"Why what?"

"Why are you getting married to Tamara?"

He chuckled.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Bae…"

"Fine. You want the truth? The truth is that I don't love her. There. Is that what you wanted to hear? I don't love Tamara. Now I don't, but maybe one day I will. Isn't that what you used to say, when I was a child? That love is hard work? Well, I wanna see where this goes."

"Bae… Not like this, son. A marriage without love-"

"…is what I deserve," he completed. "It's where my choices have led me, and I won't run."

August rubbed his eyes and walked away, but his father remained immobile in front of him, with a knowing look in his eyes that made Neal want to punch him.

"Now…I need a shower, a vest and a shirt, and something to wrap my hand with. If you really wanna help…"

"Fine," Rumplestiltskin replied. "Wait here."

Then, he turned on his heels to catch up with August, who was now at the far end of the hall, shaking his head.

"How do we get out of here without drawing attention?" he asked, as soon as he reached the man.

"Use the kitchen exit," August replied. "What's the plan?"

"The plan is, you stay, try to keep things under control here," he whispered, as his son waited not too far from where they stood. "I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, wait."

He had already turned his back on August when the man grabbed him by the arm, which granted him a rather menacing look in return.

"If you get him a new suit," August whispered, "for the love of all the Olympus, please make sure he takes the wedding vows that are in his pocket," he cast a glance towards Baelfire before continuing. "They are not his real vows, it is something that Henry asked me to give him, without him noticing."

"What?"

"I don't know, I didn't even read it," August whispered in return. "But please, make sure it is in his pocket, you have no idea what I had to do to get it there, in the first place."

"Fine," Rumplestiltskin muttered, looking over his shoulder only to find out his very impatient son with his hands on his hips, staring at him angrily. "Think you can handle Wilhelmina if she comes your way?"

"Why would she?"

"The groom will go missing for some time. So will his father. You just make sure she doesn't get the wrong idea. Tell her you spilled some punch on him, and that we'll be back as soon as he gets changed."

"What the hell is going on?" asked August, all of a sudden feeling his ass was on the line, again. "You haven't even told me what kind of spell Tamara…"

"This," Rumplestiltskin's eyes were ablaze when he hissed. "This is the kind of thing that can get you killed. I don't want to hear a word about spells, do you understand? Keep your mouth shut. There is no spell. Do you understand?"

'No, I don't!' August's mind responded.

"I do," he said, feeling somehow relieved when the older man walked away to join his son. Dark One is Dark One. He wasn't about to try his luck anytime soon.

Minutes later, at Tamara's house, Rumplestiltskin watched as his son entered the room wearing nothing but a towel.

"Wow," Neal said, wrinkling his forehead as he looked at the suit his father had assembled for him. "Black pants, black shirt, black tie, black hankie… Am I heading to a funeral?"

"Most certainly," the older man replied, as he took a seat near the bed.

"What, are you kidding me?"

He raised his head to look at Baelfire's astonished face.

"Are you really planning on staying here as I get dressed?"

"I'm here for moral support," he replied.

"Moral support can wait."

"Son, there is nothing under that towel that I haven't seen… Do I have to remind you, again, of all the diapers…"

"I'll just get changed in the bathroom."

With that, Neal picked up his clothes from the bed and left.

Five minutes later, he was back to get a belt, and Rumplestiltskin couldn't help but notice something dangling from his neck as he buttoned up his shirt.

"Son?"

"What now?" he heard the other man groan.

"There is a swan in your chest."

He watched as Baelfire let his eyes fall to the silver pendant with a sad smile on his lips. And then, when he spoke, his voice was quiet and resigned.

"There will always be."

'But you're still getting married to the wrong woman, ain't you, you stubborn, foolish pinhead!' Rumplestiltskin snarled mentally.

He should remain calm. His deal with Wilhelmina was very clear. No interference of any kind, and that included not telling anyone what had happened in the bride's lounge, at least not until after the wedding, it there was to be one.

"You're an idiot," he said, simply.

"I guess it runs in the family."

There was no resentment in Neal's voice, though. Actually, at that point, there wasn't much of anything is his voice. It was better that way.

"Granted."

Rumplestiltskin had to concede he was right. They were both idiots. Oddly enough, even though his boy had grown up in a distant land, all by himself, he seemed to be trailing a lifetime of misfortune and guilt just like his own father had been doing for so long.

He found out he didn't like the irony of that at all.

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but…" he spoke again, trying to dissipate the very gloomy thoughts forming in his head. "You look rather silly with that chain on."

Neal snorted. He should have known that he and his old man had very different ideas as to what 'moral support' meant.

"I honestly think it would look much better on its original owner," Rumplestiltskin concluded.

"Well… its original owner gave it back to me, so I'll do whatever I want with it," Neal whispered as he tucked the pendant inside his shirt. It was not as if anyone would be able to see he was wearing it, to begin with. "As it stands, silly it is."

There was a very tangible cloud of sadness hovering over his son's head as he finished getting dressed, and he suspected he knew what was making him so miserable. Tamara and her dirty tricks were only a term in the complicated algebra equation that accounted for Baelfire's troubled love life. Just like he knew how to recognize a desperate soul when he saw one, he was very familiar with the look in the eyes of a man burdened by regret and self-loathe.

It looked a lot like his own.

"You know, there is another thing that runs in this weird family of ours," Rumplestiltskin said, as he studied his son's face. "We are full of love."

Neal looked at himself in the mirror as he put his jacket on. 'Full of love'. A faint smile tried to curl his lips, but died halfway. Yes, he was full of love. He wished that was enough.

"I suppose…" he muttered, as he sat on the bed, opposite his father. He felt like he could do with some moral support, after all. "You know, she called me this morning," he whispered, staring at his own shoes as he spoke. "Emma."

Rumplestiltskin leaned forward. By the look on his son's face, it hadn't been the most pleasant talk in the history of conversation.

"She wished me luck with Tamara, and then…" Neal paused. "Then she started crying."

There was another pause, in which Neal seemed to be gathering his thoughts, his eyes still low.

"She told me she loved me. That I should be with her instead," he went on. "And I just felt like running to her… leaving... all that wedding… crap, behind."

As he listened, Rumplestiltskin nodded, studying every pained feature of his son's face. His eyes were vacant, and there was a shadow in them that made him look much older than he actually was.

"But then… I heard Tamara's voice… inside my head," Neal whispered, as he tried to swallow a gigantic lump in his throat. "And I couldn't. I didn't. I stayed. And then… I heard her hang up," he blinked and clenched his jaw, trying to push aside the memory of the day when they had talked in that bar in Manhattan. "I didn't say a word. She said she loved me and I said nothing… again."

He let out a chuckle void of any amusement.

"I mean… why? I don't love Tamara."

Rumplestiltskin had to chew on his tongue not to answer that question. If only he could rely on his powers to protect his son from Slater's wrath if he broke their deal! But, as it was, telling his son the truth would mean he wouldn't live long enough to make any good use of it.

"But I stayed," Neal continued. "I… I don't… I don't know what is happening to me. Maybe I… I don't... Maybe… it's not meant to be."

His face was a mixture of confusion and shame when he went on with his tale.

"That day in Manhattan, when Emma looked at me, I knew she was reaching out. It was like, she was hanging from a cliff edge, trying not to fall… waiting for me to pull her up… and I got closer to the edge… smiled at her… and then just stepped on her fingers and watched her fall...

"And this morning… when she called me… and reached out again… and I let her down again… I just hope she realized… that she knows… it's useless. I don't know why, but I just keep hurting her. I just…"

He stopped talking for a second, and lowered his head. Even though he was obviously trying to hide his face, which by now was probably showing too much of his feelings, Rumplestiltskin could see his son was pouting as he tried to hold back tears.

"Back in the day," Neal continued, "if there was one thing about my life that I really, really liked, was that I could give her some peace of mind… Make her forget all the bad memories, all the bad stuff that had happened to her. But now… every time she looks at me… there is this… pain… and I see that now I am a bad memory. Probably her worst."

When Bae raised his eyes to look at him, there was nothing but sadness in them.

"But I can still give her some peace, I think," he sniffed, and two fortuitous tears escaped his eyes, but he was remarkably quick to wipe them away. "So… I am withdrawing myself from the situation, from her life," he whispered. "Call it damage control."

"Oh, Bae!" he reached out for his son's shoulder, feeling that his own chest had filled with sorrow as he listened to the man's account. How sad it was that it had come to this. Baelfire and Emma Swan had been roughed up by life in so many terrible ways, and the two of them still had so many open wounds waiting to heal… It had taken them so many twists of fate for one to make it into each other's life, and so many other unlikely events for them to find each other again…

This could not be the way their story was supposed to end.

As a fierce supporter of True Love, he refused to believe it.

"Bae, I…"

"Let's just get this over and done with," Neal interrupted, standing up and quickly heading to the living room.

"Wait!" he heard his father scream from the bedroom. "I haven't even taken a look at your hand yet!"

"No need," Neal yelled back. "I'm fine. It's just a flesh wound."

Truth was that it wasn't, and his knuckles still hurt as hell. But he had wrapped a few bandages around them and that would have to do. He just wanted to leave as fast as humanly possible and bring that day to an end.

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.

"Stubborn kid…In case you still don't know, I wasn't going to use magic to heal you…" he complained quietly, as he reached out for the jacket his son had been wearing and searched its pockets for the paper August had told him about. "Even if I wanted to, I don't think I would remember how to do that…"

When he finally found it, he unfolded it to quickly scan its contents, unable to ignore his curiosity.

"Henry Mills…" he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "You really are an extraordinarily clever kid, aren't you?"

As he folded the paper, a smile spread across his face.

"I guess it runs in the family."

Snow couldn't help but notice David looked impossibly worried as he poked a green pea with the tip of his fork, staring at his food with a vacant look in his eyes.

Not far from them, Emma and Henry were talking to Archie and laughing, or trying their best to.

"Still no news?" Snow whispered, trying not to draw any attention from her daughter.

"Nothing," he mumbled in return. "No one replies my messages."

"It's not over until it's over, David," she whispered again.

"I know…" he said, grabbing her hand and trying to smile.

Just then, his phone buzzed to announce the arrival of a new message from August.

'Slater-Cassidy is on.'

"Oh, come on!" he whispered, frowning as he shook his head.

"What?"

His little outburst hadn't gone unnoticed by Emma, who was now casting a very curious glance towards her father.

"Nothing," he replied, as he stood up. "If you will excuse me for a moment…"

Emma quickly stood up as well, following David and snatching the phone from his hand as he prepared to put it back in his pocket.

"What-"

He whipped his head around, but before he could finish his sentence or even attempt to get his phone back, he saw Emma's eyes darting over the screen.

"What is this?" she asked, looking at her father with an outraged look in her eyes, as she checked his sent items and found a long list of messages to August and Rumplestiltskin. "Have you been plotting to sabotage Neal's wedding?"

"Emma… I.. I…"

"Why …" she said, and her face was a mist of confusion and anger. Did her parents really think they were doing her a favor? What would be the point of Neal not getting married because he had fallen prey to some twisted scheme? It still didn't change the fact that, in the end, he had chosen Tamara over her. "Why would you do this?"

"Emma, don't judge me," David replied, looking thoroughly apologetic as he spoke. "I just… I just think he is making a terrible mistake, and I…" he paused to let out a sigh. "Of all people, I would never pick Rumplestiltskin's son to be the right person for you, Emma. I do think he is trouble, I do think he has some serious issues to work on, but he is the one you love. And I believe he loves you too."

Emma shook her head as she listened to her father. He might have meant well, but he was wrong.

"You know what I thought when he didn't show up that night I got arrested?"

She had told her parents the very basics of her story with Neal, after the man had showed up in town. However, she might have spared them some details that would help them see what their relationship was really about, so maybe that was the right time to set the record straight.

"I thought, 'I hope he is fine. Something must have happened. He would never leave me behind'," she said. "And when I left jail, I went to the place we had agreed to go to, and waited, for two years. And when he didn't show up, I was worried sick.

"I started fearing the worst. I thought, 'Maybe he's dead. Maybe this is why he never called, or never wrote, or never looked for me.' Then, I remember this day, when I went to the morgue. I just had to, because if he had really died, I would probably be the only person he had to… claim him, you know? So there I was, looking at the corpses of all these people I had never met in my life, and then, after a couple of hours, it hit me.

"It hit me that maybe, maybe he was not dead at all. Maybe, he had just... left me."

She paused. Although there were no tears in her eyes, the look on her face was haunted, as if she was revisiting a nightmare.

"Now, see how funny things are. I believed he loved me, and I believed it so strongly that I thought he was dead, much before I even considered the possibility of him having walked out on me.

"And even though at that time I started thinking about it, it still sounded ridiculous. I knew him. I knew his feelings for me. I still had a hard time believing he had just given up on us. So, I became a bail bondsperson. I had to make a living, somehow. But also, that was the kind of job that could help me find him.

"But no matter how good I was at finding people, he was better at hiding. I never found him. And after a couple of years, the possibility that he had simply left started taking its toll on me. I guess I changed. I became bitter, angrier… skeptical? And still… until the day Gold dragged me and Henry on his unexpected field trip, I always thought that even if he had left, he would be unhappy without me. Just like I was, without him.

"And then I find him, and he is living in this fancy apartment in Manhattan, and he is engaged," she continued, and her voice was nothing but a mere whisper. "And that day, he had the chance to apologize for everything he did to me. But he didn't. Not a word. You know why? Because he never gave a shit about me. Think you and Mary Margaret would have even met him if Henry didn't exist? You wouldn't. He would have turned his back on me again. He's not here because of Gold either, although him getting injured in that occasion triggered a lot of unexpected events.

"Bottom line? Even if that man gave up on his wedding and entered that hall right now, and went down on his knees to beg me to take him back, I wouldn't.

"He left me before. Now, it is my turn. I'm letting him go."

Emma Swan had to applaud herself for delivering such lines without her voice breaking, not even once. She also noticed her eyes were dry, and her closing statement had been nothing short of brilliant.

Now, all she had to do was to replace the man standing in front of her with Neal, change a couple of pronouns, and hope she would be just as successful in making her point.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" David asked, still shocked with what he had just heard. He felt devastated. For the first time, he could actually see how deep those wounds were.

Now he pondered that even if that man gave up on his wedding and entered that hall right now, and went down on his knees to beg his daughter to take him back, he was likely to have his ass kicked by a very angry parent first.

"I'm sorry," Emma said, smiling sadly at her father. "I guess… I just wanted to see if I was capable of saying it… It's probably the first time I do. But you're right, you're not the one who should be listening to all of this."

Without really finding the right words to say, David kept staring at his daughter. For some time, he had wondered why Emma was always so suspicious and standoffish.

He now felt he understood her so much better.

"You know, I think we should start packing all this stuff and head home," Emma said, looking at the food spread across the table and breaking his reverie as she spoke.

"What about the cake?" he asked, pointing to a four-tier cake near them.

"Nah," she replied, shrugging with a little smile. "Doesn't feel right to eat wedding cake when there is no wedding."

David spent another long moment looking into her eyes. No matter what happened, he just wanted her to be happy.

"Someday, you'll be back here, Emma," he whispered, as he squeezed her shoulders with a reassuring smile. "On your terms."

Emma had to swallow a lump in her throat as she heard the words, trying not to let sadness take over as she thought of all the dreams that had been stolen from her, so many times in her life. Perhaps she would get married one day, after all. Perhaps she wouldn't.

Truth was, she was not sure she was ready to allow herself to dream again, not that soon.

If there was a moment for him to remember his vows, that was it.

And, of course, he didn't.

He had finally managed to reach his place in front of the Justice of the Peace, after letting Tamara wait for almost thirty minutes. Now that was a joke: the bride waiting for the groom. It had to be his wedding, of course. Things just couldn't run smoothly.

Either way, what mattered wass that he was by Tamara's side, ready to take her as his wife. He reached out for the wedding vows in his pocket. Thank God Regina Mills was nowhere to be found, because if she were, she would probably be aiming at his throat right now.

He looked at Tamara's loving face, took a long, deep breath, and unfolded the tiny piece of paper, silently thanking his father for handing it to him after he had nearly left it in the pocket of his other jacket.

That was it. The moment of truth.

He didn't even remember what he had written as his vows, and apparently he wouldn't know so soon. Instead, he found himself staring at a crumpled piece of paper that seemed to have been folded and unfolded multiples times, as if it had been read and reread, and then reread again. The flimsy paper seemed to be falling apart, and it was easy to understand why. According to the date on its top right corner, it had been written on a March 23, almost ten years ago.

'I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme….'

He felt his throat tighten when he realized he knew that handwriting. Near him, someone cleared his throat, and Neal lifted his eyes from the paper to look around, as Tamara eyed him expectantly.

'I hate the way you're always right, I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry…' he realized the handwriting had gotten shaky in the last word, and the ink was blurred in the lines that followed. His eyes prickled at the corners, but he couldn't bring himself to stop reading.

"Oh, look at him! He's on the verge of tears as he reads his vows, the poor thing!' a female voice whispered, a hand clasped around her chest. "How romantic!"

"He can't even bring himself to speak!" the woman next to her replied. "How sweet is that?"

'I hate it when you're not around, and the fact you didn't call,' he had to bite his lip, as images from so many years ago rolled before his eyes again, and he wished it was her standing in front of him… He wished he had never left, that he had been around, that he had called.

'But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all,' he read, and then sniffed, feeling his heart trying to burst out of his chest. He was about to fold the paper, when a tinier, crunchier handwriting caught his eyes and he found himself reading a hurried note, in red ink. 'Found this in the bug. I don't think she hates you! Henry.'

He knew that sooner or later he would no longer be able to hold back his tears. He felt his shoulders droop as he let out a strangled sigh, and a wave of murmurs swept the hall.

"Oh, Neal!" Tamara whispered, putting a hand on her chest, clearly taken aback by how emotional the man was as he read his vows.

"I'm sorry!" he muttered, hugging her as tears fell from his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I… I can't. I… can't."

The whole hall rose to their feet for a standing ovation, and some people were wiping away tears as well.

"You can't say your vows?" she said, "Then don't, just-"

"I can't marry you," he bit his lip again. "I'm so sorry."