And I almost asked, “Did you ever love me?”
But right then, Margaret walked in and said his name. Soft. Sweet. Like she hadn’t wrecked everything.
He turned to her instantly.
His face softened. His eyes lit up. He hadn’t looked at me like that in years.
I held my breath. Then smiled. A small, broken thing that tasted like blood in my mouth.
“Congratulations,” I told him. “Hope you two are really happy.”
He tilted his head. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said, still smiling. “Just wishing you luck.”
He stood there, hand on the doorframe. Looked like he was thinking of saying something. Then Margaret’s voice called out again from the hall.
And just like that, he turned away.
He left.
---
The next few days were a blur of wedding prep. Margot on every phone call, every photo shoot. Hakeem beside her every step. Sharp suit, cold eyes, fake smile.
He planned that wedding like it was war. Every detail locked in. Every guest list was reviewed twice.
He hadn’t put this much effort into our wedding.
Then, just a few days before the ceremony, Margaret came to me with that same plastic smile she wore when she handed me my dead mother’s locket.