From my hotel balcony, I saw my sister draw my fiancé into the darkness and kiss him. “You don’t have to love me,” she murmured. “Just choose me once.” I pressed record, already certain this wedding would end to applause.

“I was wiped out,” I said. “Everything just feels… like too much.”

She pulled me into a tight hug. I almost laughed. Not from joy, but from something sharp and bitter. The same arms that had wrapped around my fiancé hours earlier were now brushing my hair from my face.

A few minutes later, Josh texted:
Didn’t see you last night. Want to grab lunch?

I said yes.

We met in the hotel café, all palm shadows and low jazz humming in the background. He looked unchanged. Fresh shave. Crisp button-down, slightly rumpled, like he’d barely slept. Like he’d just left someone else’s bed.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he said, reaching for my hand. “About how lucky I am.”

I nodded. Slowly. “Are you?”

He hesitated. “What do you mean?”