Chapter 2

The next morning, Ethan is a whirlwind of happiness.

He finds me in the kitchen, staring into a cup of coffee I haven' t touched. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind, kissing my neck.

"Morning, future Mrs. Lester."

His voice is bright, full of plans. He talks about the vineyard, the flowers, the life we're going to build. He even mentions kids, a boy with my eyes and a girl with his smile.

I just nod, a hollow feeling echoing in my chest.

He pulls back, finally sensing my quietness. "Hey, you okay? Pre-wedding jitters?"

"Just tired," I manage to say. "A lot to plan."

He smiles, accepting the lie easily. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've got it all covered. Today, I have a surprise for you."

He' s so blissfully unaware it' s almost cruel. He has no idea that every cheerful word, every promise for the future, is a nail in the coffin of my five-year dream.

He spends the day making calls, finalizing details for a wedding that will never happen. I watch him, a ghost in my own home, packing a small box in my closet.

Inside, I place the cheap locket he bought me after his first successful case, the pressed wildflower from our first picnic, and the worn-out copy of his favorite book he gave me on our first anniversary. Every little treasure, every piece of our shared history, now feels like evidence of a crime.

Later that afternoon, he comes back, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Close your eyes," he says, his voice giddy.

I do as he says. I hear him move something large and rustling into the room.

"Okay, open them."

Hanging on the back of our bedroom door is the most beautiful wedding dress I' ve ever seen. It' s the designer gown from the boutique downtown, the one I' d admired but knew we could never afford. It' s all delicate lace and flowing silk, a perfect dream.

"Ethan... how?" I whisper, my throat tight.

He grins, a little sheepishly. "I sold the Mustang."

My heart stops. His vintage Mustang. It was his one connection to his old life, the only thing he managed to keep. He loved that car. He sold it for me. For a dress I will wear to my own funeral.

"I told you," he says, his voice soft as he pulls me into a hug. "Nothing is more important than you. I've waited five years for our wedding day, Gabby. I can't wait to see you walk down the aisle in this."

The irony is a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs. He sold his past for a future I am about to steal from him.