Noticing me standing at the entrance, his face flashed with panic for a brief moment before quickly recovering. He released Zoe’s arm and said in a low voice, “Be a good girl. Go take it off and let her try it on.”
Zoe pouted, reluctant to part with the gown. “Just a little longer, please? She can wear it whenever she wants. I’ll never get the chance again.”
“Don’t be silly,” he replied, pinching her cheek with a laugh. “One day, you will find a boyfriend and have your own wedding dress to wear.”
“But who could ever compare to you, Vincent?” she said coyly.
They joked and flirted openly, without a care for my presence.
Afraid I would confront Zoe, Vincent impatiently turned to me, offering a flimsy explanation, “She’s just playing a wedding game, okay? Don’t get upset over this, okay?”
If this had been the past, I would have exploded—fighting, yelling, maybe even tearing the gown apart to ensure no one else could have it. But with my thought of leaving him only a week away, what was the point? Sometimes, silence was the loudest response.
For the first time, I was not angry. I was free.