The Wedding That Never Was

The last thing I remembered was the cold, seeping into my bones on the operating table, as doctors frantically tried to stop the hemorrhaging.

Then, the words that shattered my world: "The baby... the baby can' t be saved."

My baby, gone. And in a flash, I remembered my husband Liam' s venomous sneer just hours before, "If it' s some other man' s bastard, I' ll kill it myself."

The pain of his words, worse than labor, twisted my love for my adoptive brother into pure hatred. I believed he had killed our child.

Consumed by rage, I seized a scalpel and plunged it into his chest, gasping, "If my child dies, you' re dying with him."

His eyes widened in despair, not anger, as consciousness faded.

His frantic shouts echoed, "Save her! Get the best doctors... And find her the best lawyer... Don' t let her find out about her father. Let her hate me forever."

Tears fell onto my cheek, hot and foreign. My father? What did he have to do with this?

Then, darkness.

"Do you, Ava Miller, take this man, Liam Hayes, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

My eyes snapped open. The blinding white of the operating room was gone. I was at the altar, clutching white roses, in a heavy wedding dress.

Liam stood before me, young and handsome, looking exactly as he had ten years ago.

Our wedding day. The day my nightmare began. I was back.

He leaned in, his voice a low, impatient hiss, "Ava, what are you doing? Say 'I do.' Don' t make a scene."

The same cold tone, the same barely-veiled annoyance. Nothing had changed.

I saw Sarah Johnson in the second row, feigning heartbreak, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. Liam' s innocent victim.

Then it all crashed down. Liam' s final words, his protection, Sarah' s true manipulation, my father' s death-it was all a misunderstanding, a mountain of lies.

I had died because of it once. I wouldn't walk back into that cage.

"No. I don' t."

The last thing I remembered was the cold. It seeped into my bones from the operating table, a chilling numbness that felt like death itself.

Blood was everywhere, a stark red against the sterile white sheets. I was hemorrhaging, the life draining out of me with every failed attempt by the doctors to stop the flow.

"The baby... the baby can' t be saved," a voice said, distant and muffled.

My baby.

The memory of the argument from just hours before flashed in my mind. Liam, my husband of ten years, his face twisted with rage.

"Is that child even mine, Ava?" he had sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "If it' s some other man' s bastard, I' ll kill it myself."

The pain of his words was worse than the labor pains ripping through me. I had loved this man, my adoptive brother, with a desperate, all-consuming obsession for my entire life. That love had twisted me into someone I didn't recognize, a manipulative woman who had forced him into this cage of a marriage.

Fueled by a decade of his coldness and my own agony, I had spat back, "You' re right. It' s not yours."

A lie. A stupid, hateful lie meant to hurt him as much as he had hurt me.

Now, on this cold table, our child was gone. And I knew, with a certainty that froze my heart, that Liam was behind it. He had gotten what he wanted. He had killed our child.

A desperate rage, black and absolute, consumed me. I saw a scalpel on a nearby tray. My hand shot out, my fingers closing around the cool metal.

With the last of my strength, I lunged, plunging the blade into his chest as he stood over me. "If my child dies," I gasped, "you' re dying with him."

His eyes widened in shock, not with anger, but with a horrifying, gut-wrenching despair. He didn' t fight back. He just looked at me.

As my consciousness faded, his voice was the last thing I heard, frantic and broken.

"Save her! Get the best doctors, I don' t care what it costs, just save Ava!"

He was shouting at his assistant.

"And find her the best lawyer in the country! Give her anything she wants, just... just don' t let her find out about her father. Let her hate me. It' s better if she hates me forever."

Tears, hot and foreign, slid from the corners of his eyes and fell onto my cheek.

Hate him? My father? What did my father have to do with this?

The confusion was overwhelming, a final, crushing weight. A tragic misunderstanding... a love so twisted it had devoured us both.

And then, darkness.

...

"Do you, Ava Miller, take this man, Liam Hayes, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The voice, calm and deep, cut through the fog in my head.

I blinked. The blinding white of the operating room was gone. Instead, I saw the soft, ambient light of a church, filtering through stained-glass windows.

My hands were clammy, clutching a bouquet of white roses. A heavy white dress constricted my breathing.

I was at the altar.

My head snapped to the side. There he was. Liam Hayes. Young, handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his jaw tight. He looked exactly as he had ten years ago, on this very day.

Our wedding day.

The day my ten-year nightmare began.

I was back. I had been reborn.

Liam must have felt my hesitation. He leaned in, his voice a low, impatient hiss that only I could hear.

"Ava, what are you doing? Say 'I do.' Don' t make a scene."

The same cold tone. The same barely-veiled annoyance. Nothing had changed.

My gaze drifted over the crowd. I could hear their whispers, the same whispers that had followed me for a decade in my past life.

"She' s so shameless. Tying him down like this."

"I heard she threatened him, using her father' s company."

"Poor Liam. He had to break up with his long-term girlfriend, Sarah, for this. I heard Sarah was devastated."

Their words didn' t hurt this time. They were just echoes of a life I had already lived and died.

Then my eyes found her.

Sitting in a second-row pew, Sarah Johnson. She looked pale and fragile, a picture of heartbroken innocence. One hand rested protectively over her stomach, a gesture that sent a jolt through me. She wasn' t pregnant yet in this timeline, but the pantomime was clear. She was the victim.

She met my gaze, and for a split second, I saw it. A flicker of triumph in her tear-filled eyes before it was replaced by a look of profound sadness.

It all crashed down on me then. The past, the present, the future I was about to repeat.

In my last life, I heard Liam' s final, desperate words. Don' t let her find out about her father. He had been protecting me, even at the end. Even when I had stabbed him. My father' s death, which I had always blamed on Liam' s cruelty and neglect, was something else entirely. Sarah, the poor, innocent victim, was something else entirely. And Liam... Liam was not the simple villain I had painted him to be.

Our entire relationship, our entire miserable marriage, was built on a mountain of lies and misunderstandings. And I had just died because of it.

I would not do it again. I would not walk back into that cage.

"Miss Miller?" the priest prompted gently.

I took a deep breath, the scent of roses filling my lungs. I looked at Liam, at his cold, impatient face. I looked at Sarah, at her fake, sorrowful performance. Then I looked to the front row, at my father. His face was full of love and hope for me.

In my last life, I chose Liam. And my father died of a broken heart because of the hell my life became.

Not this time.

This time, I choose my father. I choose myself.

I turned back to the priest. My voice was clear and steady when I spoke, ringing through the silent church.

"No. I don' t."

The silence in the church was absolute.

You could have heard a pin drop. Every eye was on me. My father' s face was a mask of confusion. The guests murmured in shock. The priest looked completely lost.

Liam' s hand shot out and grabbed my arm. His grip was tight, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Ava, stop this nonsense," he whispered harshly, his eyes blazing with a controlled fury. "What game are you playing now?"

"It' s not a game, Liam," I said, my voice quiet but firm. I tried to pull my arm away, but his grip was like iron.

He softened his expression, a tactic I knew all too well. He thought he could manage me, control me, just like he always had. His voice became a gentle, condescending murmur.

"Ava, darling, we can talk about whatever is bothering you after the ceremony. Don' t do this here. Let' s not embarrass our families."

Before I could answer, a choked sob came from the pews.

Sarah Johnson stood up, her face streaked with tears. She looked at Liam with utter heartbreak.

"Liam... is this because of me?" she cried, her voice carrying through the church. "I told you I could accept it. I told you I would go away and never bother you again! Why is she still doing this to me?"

The whispers from the crowd grew louder, now directed at me with open hostility.

"See? She' s just a cruel bully."

"She' s not happy unless everyone else is miserable."

Liam' s attention was immediately drawn to Sarah, his expression softening with pity and guilt. That look was so familiar. It was the look that had haunted my entire marriage.

I finally wrenched my arm from his grasp. The sudden freedom felt intoxicating.

I took the heavy veil from my head, the lace scratching against my skin. I walked over to the edge of the dais and held it out, along with my bouquet of white roses.

I looked directly at Sarah.

"You' re right, Sarah," I said, my voice calm. "He should be with you."

I placed the veil and the flowers into her trembling hands.

"I was wrong. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

Sarah stared at the bouquet as if it were a snake, her face a comical picture of shock. The victim act had vanished, replaced by pure, unfiltered confusion.

I turned back to Liam. His face was a thundercloud. He was radiating an anger so intense it was almost a physical force.

"Ava Miller. Have you lost your mind?" he bit out, each word sharp and cold.

"No, Liam," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "I think I' ve finally found it."

His next words were meant to hurt, and they did, but only as a faint echo of a pain I no longer had to live with.

"Don' t think for a second this changes anything. You wanted this, you forced this, and you will marry me. Stop this pathetic attempt for attention."

The disgust in his voice was a familiar sting. For ten years, I had craved his affection, and for ten years, he had given me nothing but this.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the last dregs of old sorrow. I had to end this, completely and forever.

I looked up at him, letting him see the tears welling in my eyes, but I did not let them fall.

"I' m sorry, Liam," I said, and the apology was for everything. For my past life' s obsession, for my manipulations, for the pain I caused him and the pain I caused myself. "I' m sorry for everything. From now on, we' re just brother and sister. Nothing more."

I gave him a small, formal bow, just like a younger sister would to her older brother.

Then, without another word, I turned my back on him, on Sarah, on the shocked gasps of the guests, and walked down the aisle.

The heavy train of my wedding dress trailed behind me, a weight I was finally leaving behind.

I didn' t look back. I walked out of the church doors and into the bright sunlight, a free woman.

Once I was safely in the back of the limousine my father had rented, the tears I' d been holding back finally came. They weren' t tears of sadness or regret, but of pure, unadulterated relief. A flood of emotion washing away a decade of misery.

My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone and dialed my father' s number.

He picked up on the first ring, his voice frantic with worry. "Ava! What' s going on? Where are you?"

"Dad," I sobbed, my voice thick with tears. "I' m okay. I' m so sorry for the mess."

"Don' t you worry about the mess, sweetie. Are you alright? What happened?"

"I just... I can' t marry him, Dad. I can' t do it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then his voice came back, full of nothing but warmth and support. "Okay, sweetie. Okay. You don' t have to do anything you don' t want to do. Just tell me where you are."

A sense of peace settled over me. He was my rock. He had always been my rock. I had just been too blind to see it.

"Dad," I said, a new resolve hardening my voice. "I don' t want to study art anymore. I want to go to business school. I want to learn how to run the company. I want to help you."

Another pause, this one filled with surprise and then, immense pride.

"Ava," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I would love that."

As the limo pulled away from the curb, I looked out the window. My new life was just beginning.