Chapter 2 - The Severed Ceremony
The tension in the church was a physical weight, pressing down on every guest. Emily stood at the altar, her face contorted in a mix of fury and humiliation. She looked at Daniel, waiting for him to defend her, to demand that his mother sit down and let the wedding proceed.
But Daniel was looking at me.
He was looking at the navy-blue lace sleeves of my dress, at the faint, silver-and-pink patterns of scar tissue that crawled up my neck and touched the edge of my jawline. For three years, Emily had kept me away from him. There was always an excuse—I was "too weak to travel," or I "preferred my privacy," or I was "undergoing another medical procedure." He had only seen old, pre-fire photographs of me, or heavily filtered family portraits where my side of the frame was conveniently cropped or shaded.
"Daniel," Emily pleaded, her voice rising in pitch. "The priest is waiting. Our guests are waiting. We can talk about family drama later. Please."
Daniel looked at his mother, then at the priest, and finally back to Emily. The love that had shone in his eyes just ten minutes ago had been replaced by a deep, unsettling caution.
"I can't do this right now, Emily," Daniel said softly.
The church erupted into a collective, hushed gasp. One of the bridesmaids dropped her bouquet, the carnations scattering across the carpet.
"What?" Emily whispered, her face draining of what little color it had left. "What do you mean you can't do this?"
"I mean, I don't think I know who you are," Daniel said. He took a step back from the altar, his hands dropping to his sides. "You told me your sister chose not to be in the bridal party because she had social anxiety from her accidents. You told me she wanted to sit in the back. You didn't tell me you asked her to hide."
"I didn't ask her to hide!" Emily lied, her voice cracking as she looked wildly around the room for an ally. "I just... I wanted the photographs to look consistent! The theme is classic elegance, and... and..."
"And her scars don't fit your classic elegance?" Margaret Callahan stood up, her posture regal and unyielding. "My family's legacy was built on honor, Emily. My husband died in service, and my son was raised to respect sacrifice above all else. I will not welcome a woman into our family who treats her savior like a shameful secret."
"Daniel, please!" Emily sobbed, reaching for him again, but he stepped back further, turning to look at his best man.
"Cancel the ceremony," Daniel said, his voice flat and hollow. "We need to go. Now."
He turned and walked down the side steps of the altar, bypassing his own family and disappearing into the vestry. The priest slowly closed his Bible, offering a quiet, sorrowful nod to the congregation.
May you like
Emily stood alone at the altar. She looked at me, her eyes burning with a hatred so pure it felt like a physical heat. "You did this," she hissed, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at my wheelchair. "You always destroy everything I have! You couldn't just let me have my day!"
Before I could speak, Margaret Callahan stepped in front of my chair, shielding me from her sight. "No, Emily," Margaret said. "You did this to yourself. Now, I suggest you go help your parents pack up your perfect decorations."
