He'd texted me just yesterday, saying he missed my soup.
But today he was holding another woman's hand.
And I foolishly rushed over, just in time to witness this wedding.
I found the address from the poster and sneaked in.
The wedding was lavish and dreamy.
I slipped into the hall just as the ceremony was beginning.
Under the spotlight, Jameson's face seemed distant and aloof, but it softened when the bride appeared.
The host asked, "Mr. Reed, do you take Ms. Brooks to be your wife?"
My mind went blank. My limbs went numb, and the thermos I was clutching fell to the floor with a thud.
Greasy chicken soup splashed all over me.
The smiling guests around me turned away with looks of disdain.
"Who's this relative?"
"Doesn't look like anyone we know. With that shabby appearance, is she here just to mooch a meal?"
"She seems unstable. Get security to take her out."
Before security dragged me out, I locked eyes with Jameson through the sea of people.
His elegant suit shone under the spotlight, dazzling and radiant.
I stood there, drenched in muck and rain, my clothes half-dry and smelling of greasy soup.
After a few seconds of eye contact, I bolted.
When I got home, it still felt like a dream.