Eleanor took one look at the dress and knew it was the one for her future daughter-in-law. It was a sleek white wedding gown that clung smoothly to any woman's figure. "Avery, come look at this," she exclaimed, hurrying over. "You have to try on this gown. This is the one for you—it totally captures my vision," she ordered. Avery hesitated before stepping closer and trying on the dress, the sleek satin fabric clinging tightly to her skin. "Perfect," Eleanor exclaimed before Avery could even comment. "This dress is suffocating me," Avery thought to herself. "This is it—get me one of these in a smaller size," she quietly gasped, her face turning slightly pale. "A smaller size? As if it's not tight enough already?" Avery murmured under her breath, sarcastically smiling at her mother-in-law while silently pleading for the situation to end. Then she finally gathered the courage to speak up. "Madame Eleanor, this dress is tight as it is. Why do I need a smaller size? I'm sure this one is perfect already, but I feel like I'm suffocating in it. Maybe we could do some alterations?" Eleanor scoffed at her proposal, not even wanting to listen to another word. "Well, if it's too tight, eat less. It's as easy as that. Now where is that clerk? Hey, I said get me one of these dresses in a smaller size—pronto!"
The sales clerk hurriedly stopped what she was doing. It was her first day on the job, and it was already taking a toll on her. She quickly retrieved the same dress in an extra small size. Avery wore a medium, and she knew exactly what her mother-in-law was implying. Is she saying I'm fat? That I'm not good enough for her? That's bold coming from that woman! she murmured under her breath. Eleanor met the clerk at the storefront and pulled out her son and Avery's shared credit card account. "Madame," Avery interjected quickly, "before you pay for the dress, please consider using another card. The money in that account is our budget for the whole month, and we didn't leave room for other expenses. If you could just cover this one just this time, that would be lovely.""Fine. What was I expecting from a girl like you? Can't even pay for a single dress for her own wedding. Whatever." Eleanor swiped her son's credit card anyway.
"Madame, are you sure? Can we ask Michael fir—"
"Oh, just shut up. He's my son, and I can do whatever I want. Just make sure every cent gets paid back."
"Certainly madame" Avery agreed, strained and tired, she knew she can't win this fight. As they walk out of the boutique, Eleanor spotted the heaviest piece of jewelry known to man, she looked at Avery, then the jewelry again, then Avery and the next thing she knows she's at the check out counter again, purchasing the $52,000 necklace with Michael's credit card. "Again, pay back every cent of this" Avery gasped at the receipt, silently wanting to just run away and call off the wedding, but she thought to herself "This is the love of my life, and if it means spending the rest of my life with him, then so be it" "Of Course Madame" Avery softly replied. As they walked out of the boutique, Avery can't help but glance at the receipt once more. "$72,000 for a dress? That's ridiculous! I'm going to have to get another day job" Avery whispered loud enough for Eleanor to hear "Well in that case, get two" Eleanor approached a boutique showcasing the dress of her dreams "That's one of a kind madame, for only $300,000" Avery almost fainted to the ground "A dress much more expensive than the bride's? This is outrageous, surely she's not going to.." before she could finish her thought, Eleanor already is walking out the boutique with a heavy dress in plastic covers. "Hold this" Eleanor shoved the dress into Avery's hands "And be careful." She added.
The ride to the penthouse was silent except for the soft hum of the car engine.
Avery sat in the backseat, buried under shopping bags, gowns, and the weight of receipts she didn't even want to look at anymore. Eleanor sat beside her, perfectly composed, scrolling through her phone like nothing had happened. When the car finally stopped, the driver stepped out and opened the door. A towering glass building stretched into the sky, its surface reflecting the city lights like scattered diamonds. The entrance alone looked like something out of a magazine—polished marble floors, gold-accented doors, and staff who bowed the moment Eleanor stepped in. The elevator ride up was silent. Avery stared at her reflection in the mirrored walls—tired eyes, tight shoulders, hands still clutching plastic-covered gowns. Each floor that passed felt heavier than the last.
Ding.
The doors opened to the penthouse. And Avery almost forgot how to breathe. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the entire space, revealing the city glowing beneath them like a living painting. A grand chandelier hung above a marble living room so pristine it looked untouched by time. Everything screamed wealth, control, perfection. Eleanor stepped out first, already at home in space. "Put the bags down," she said casually. "And don't scratch the floor." Avery followed slowly, carefully setting everything down as if even her breathing might disturb the perfection around her. She stood there for a moment, surrounded by luxury she didn't feel part of, and realized something terrifying— This wasn't just a wedding preparation anymore. This was a life she was expected to survive.
"Now come we have another thing we have to arrange. Meet Lacy, our caterer, lacy meet Avery my soon to be daughter in law" Eleanor introduces Avery to lacy, the young fit woman sitting at the end of the table. The penthouse lights gleamed on her face like an angel. Then Eleanor broke the silence by cracking a joke "Let's start with cake, I'll take the first bite, I'm afraid I won't get any if I let you go first" Avery clenches her first at Eleanor's remark, but quickly composes herself, and just chuckle at that almost passive aggressive insult. "If only hitting mother in law's we're normal, her face would've already been red by now!" She thought to herself. "It's your turn now, tell us what you think" Eleanor informed Avery. As Avery prepare to take a bite, she saw something at the corner of her eye. The cake box, containing their names, the cake she was about to dive in to was a cake composed of gluten flour, pistachios and chocolate ganache. She quickly stopped herself "Madame, I'm afraid I can't have any of this" She points to all the plaque cards on the cake boxes "I am allergic to celiac, and nuts, and all of the cakes seem to have celiac, some nuts , "—can we substitute it for other materials, Lacy?" Avery asked carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. Lacy hesitated, glancing briefly at Eleanor before answering, but Eleanor spoke first. "No," she said flatly, taking another bite of cake as if nothing was wrong. "These are the finalized selections. The guests have already approved the menu." Avery blinked, her hand slowly lowering as the realization sank in. "But… I can't eat any of these," she said, her voice quieter now, almost fragile. Eleanor let out a small sigh, clearly annoyed. "Avery, must everything revolve around you? It's just food. You're not the only one attending the wedding." Avery forced a small, tight smile, but her fingers curled slightly against the table. "It's my wedding," she wanted to say—but the words stayed stuck in her throat. "Let's move on," Eleanor continued briskly, gesturing to the next set of dishes. The servers stepped forward, replacing the cakes with an array of plated meals—perfectly arranged, rich, extravagant, and completely unforgiving. Avery's stomach dropped again. Salmon glazed to perfection. Buttered shrimp. Garlic crabs laid out like a feast. The scent alone made her uneasy. "Seafood?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "Yes," Eleanor replied. "It's what the guests prefer." Avery swallowed. "I'm allergic to seafood…" she said, her voice almost disappearing. Eleanor didn't even look at her this time. "Then don't eat it." The words hit harder than any insult before. Avery stared down at the table as more dishes were presented—lamb chops crusted with pistachios, steaks dripping with butter, every single plate crafted with ingredients her body couldn't tolerate. It was almost ironic. Almost cruelly intentional. "Even the meat…" Avery murmured weakly, "I can't have dairy either." Eleanor finally looked at her, raising a brow. "Then I suggest you learn to adjust." Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Avery sat there, surrounded by luxury she couldn't touch, a feast she couldn't eat, a wedding that didn't feel like hers. And for the first time, the thought didn't just whisper in her mind— echoed loudly. I don't belong here
"What about dessert? Surely there's something," Avery muttered softly, her voice barely holding together as she glanced at Eleanor with a fragile hope. "Oh, try the cupcakes," Lacy chimed in lightly, attempting to ease the tension, but before Avery could even reach for one, Eleanor interrupted without a second thought. "Those have gluten in them as well." The words fell so casually, so effortlessly dismissive, that Avery almost laughed—but nothing came out. "I'm sorry, darling," Eleanor continued, her tone dripping with false sympathy, "it looks like you're just going to have to go through the night with wine. Which, I suppose, would be fine—you are quite the proficient drinker." Avery's fingers tightened against the table, her nails pressing into her skin as she forced herself to stay still. "It also gives me an excuse to send you to rehab once this is all over," Eleanor added with a faint smile, as if she had just made a harmless joke. "Now clean this up, and pay Lacy the full quarter million for the catering." And just like that, she walked out, leaving behind silence so thick it felt suffocating. Avery stood there, unmoving, staring at the untouched food—the feast she couldn't eat, the wedding that didn't feel like hers, the life that was being decided for her piece by piece. One expense after another echoed in her mind—dress, necklace, gown, catering—millions stacking up on a credit card that wasn't even hers to begin with, yet somehow entirely her responsibility. When Lacy quietly excused herself and left, Avery was alone in the penthouse, surrounded by luxury she had no control over, forced to clean up a mess she didn't create.
She had barely begun gathering the plates when the doors burst open. Michael stormed in, his presence loud, heavy, overwhelming. "2.7 million dollars in a day?!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the room like glass. "Have you lost your mind? I knew I shouldn't have agreed to this wedding in the first place. You better find a way to pay back every cent of that!" Avery flinched at the volume, her breath catching as panic set in. "Darling, it wasn't me—please, just listen," she pleaded, her voice trembling as she rushed toward him. "Your mother—she chose everything. The dress, the necklace, the other gown, even the food I can't eat—everything! She wouldn't listen to me, she told me to get two jobs, I—please, just hear me out—" Her words tumbled over each other, desperate, messy, breaking apart under his anger. She was almost kneeling, her hands reaching out as if she could physically stop him from turning away. But Michael didn't soften. Not even for a second. "I don't care," he snapped coldly. "Either you come up with the money in three months before the wedding, or it's off." The words hit harder than anything Eleanor had said that day. Final. Unforgiving. Avery followed him as he turned to leave, her steps uneven, her voice cracking as she tried to keep up. "How am I supposed to make two million dollars in three months? You make that in a year, Michael! Please—I can't do this alone, I need your help, I'm willing to try, just please—" But he stopped abruptly, turning to face her with a look she had never seen before. "I said I don't care," he repeated. "It's your responsibility. Your fault. And how dare you blame my mother for your own mess. If you don't find a way, don't expect to take my name. You'll be getting divorce papers—and a settlement for double." And just like that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, completely alone.
The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. It pressed against her from all sides, heavier than the marble walls, heavier than the expectations, heavier than the life she was about to lose. Within hours, Avery was gone. A single bag, a rushed cab ride, and a quiet escape from a place that never felt like hers. The city lights blurred outside the window as she stared ahead, her mind numb, her chest tight, her thoughts looping around the same impossible number. Two million dollars. Three months. It sounded absurd, unreal—but the consequences were not. By the time she reached a small, unfamiliar hotel, exhaustion had already begun to settle into her bones. There was no time to process, no time to grieve—only time to act.
The next morning, Avery stood beneath harsh fluorescent lights in a small supermarket, a complete contrast to the polished perfection she had left behind. The air smelled faintly of plastic and produce, the constant beeping of the register replacing the silence of wealth she once stood in. Her uniform felt stiff, unfamiliar, but she forced herself to adjust. One item at a time, one customer at a time, she pushed through the hours. Her feet ached before noon, her back stiffened by afternoon, and her smile grew thinner with every passing interaction. Customers came and went, some kind, some impatient, none aware of the weight she carried behind her tired eyes. She stayed longer than scheduled, accepted extra shifts without hesitation, and ignored the growing exhaustion clawing at her body. Every second mattered. Every dollar mattered, and it still wasn't enough.
So when the sun disappeared, Avery didn't rest. She pushed herself into a second job at night as an exotic dancer, treating it with the same numb determination as everything else—just another way to survive, just another shift to get through. The first night felt like stepping out of her own life and into someone else's body. The lights were too bright, the music too loud, the smiles around her too practiced to feel real. She told herself not to think—just move, just endure, just make it through the hours. Every second on stage felt distant, almost unreal, like she was watching herself from far away while her real self stayed somewhere quiet and buried. She stopped thinking about dignity, about who she used to be, about what anyone would say if they saw her now. Those thoughts only made it harder to breathe. Instead, she focused on numbers in her head—rent, bills, the wedding debt, the impossible three-month deadline. Money became the only language that mattered anymore, the only thing that could decide whether she lost everything or somehow held on.
The days blurred into nights without warning. She would leave the supermarket exhausted, barely eat, then go straight into another shift where exhaustion wasn't allowed to exist. Her body moved on autopilot, her mind dulled by repetition and pressure. Some nights she didn't even recognize her reflection in the mirror backstage—tired eyes, stiff posture, a version of herself that looked nothing like the girl who once believed a wedding meant love and happiness. The more she worked, the more distant everything felt, like she was slowly disappearing into survival itself. Still, she kept going. Because stopping meant failure. And failure meant losing everything Michael had threatened her with. So she swallowed the fatigue, ignored the shaking in her hands, and kept pushing herself past her limits, even when it felt like she was breaking apart piece by piece
Until one night—"Avery?" The voice cut through everything instantly, sharper than the music, heavier than the lights, and she froze in place, her entire body going rigid as she slowly turned, already knowing before she even saw him that something irreversible had just happened. And there he was—Michael—standing at the edge of the room with an expression she couldn't fully read at first, shock and anger mixing together as reality settled in. For a moment neither of them moved, the world around them continuing as if nothing had changed, but between them everything had shifted. Then his voice broke through, low and disbelieving as he stepped forward and asked why she was selling her body as an exotic dancer, and Avery immediately snapped back, her exhaustion finally turning into anger as she told him it was because of his quota, because of the impossible demand he placed on her, because she had been forced into working day and night just to survive the deadline he gave her, her voice rising as she gestured around the room in frustration and pain. Michael scoffed, refusing to accept it, but Avery cut him off before he could continue, her voice cracking as she demanded to know why he was even there in a place like this, in a strip club, turning the accusation back on him with everything she had left, and for a brief moment he hesitated before hardening again, saying that was not the point, but Avery refused to let it go, stepping closer as she told him it absolutely was the point, that he had no right to judge her when he was standing in the exact same place, and Michael shot back that he was not degrading himself for money, which only made Avery laugh bitterly as she told him he had forced her into survival and now had the audacity to judge how she survived, her voice shaking but firm as she challenged him again and again, while he insisted he didn't force her to do this, and she immediately fired back that she never forced him to give her an impossible deadline, asking him what exactly he expected her to do, and as their voices overlapped and tension snapped tighter between them, the music and lights faded into nothing, leaving only the weight of everything they had both created crashing down in the middle of the room.
Michael's jaw tightened as the silence after her words stretched unbearably, his anger still burning but now tangled with something closer to disbelief. "You think this is justified?" he finally said, voice low but sharp. "You think putting yourself in a place like this makes everything okay?" Avery let out a breath that sounded more like exhaustion than laughter, shaking her head as she wiped at her face quickly, refusing to break completely in front of him. "No," she said, quieter now, "I think I'm trying to survive something you don't even want to acknowledge." Michael stepped closer, frustration rising again. "I do acknowledge it, Avery. But this is not the answer." She immediately snapped back, her voice rising again as years of pressure seemed to pour out all at once. "Then what is? Because you didn't give me options, Michael. You gave me a countdown." That shut him up for half a second, just enough for the weight of it to settle again between them. The staff nearby started to notice, whispers rippling through the room, but neither of them cared anymore. Michael ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly as if trying to regain control of the situation. "You could've told me," he said, more controlled now, but still tense. Avery laughed again, bitter and sharp. "Tell you? And what would you have done? Listen? Or just send me back to your mother's decisions?" His expression flickered at that, but before he could answer, Avery stepped forward, voice trembling but steadying into something firmer. "Your mother ruined every part of this wedding, Michael. I'm drowning in debt for things I never even agreed to, and you still expect me to act like I'm the problem." Michael's face hardened again, caught between loyalty and anger, and when he finally spoke, it came out colder than before. "You're embarrassing yourself." That landed like a slap. Avery went completely still for a moment, then her expression changed—something breaking, something sharper forming in its place. "No," she said slowly, voice low, "I think I finally stopped letting you embarrass me." The air between them went electric, heavy with everything they had both refused to say for too long, and for the first time neither of them had a clean answer left to defend themselves with.
Michael exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was trying to hold himself together but barely managing it. "So this is it?" he said, voice colder now. "You're choosing this life over us?" Avery blinked, stunned at how easily he framed it like a choice she had freely made. She shook her head slowly, her voice quieter but cutting deeper because of it. "You still don't get it," she said. "There was never an 'us' that included my voice." Michael stepped closer again, frustration breaking through his control. "That's not true."
Avery's eyes flashed. "It is," she shot back immediately. "Every decision, every dress, every bill, every demand—it was all decided around me, not with me." Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke, but she didn't stop. "And now you're here acting shocked that I'm drowning?"
Michael's jaw clenched. "I gave you three months because I thought you could handle it."
Avery let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Handle it?" she repeated. "Michael, people don't 'handle' two million dollars of pressure dropped on their head like it's a challenge."
For a moment, he didn't respond. The noise of the room felt distant again, like the world was holding its breath.
Then Avery's voice softened—but only slightly, more tired than angry now. "I didn't want this to be the end," she admitted. "But you keep pushing me like I'm disposable."
Michael looked at her, something flickering in his expression—anger fading, replaced by something uncertain. "I didn't think it would go this far," he said finally, quieter.
Avery nodded slowly, like that answer hurt more than anything else. "That's the problem," she whispered. "You never think it will."
Avery stared at him for a long moment, the silence between them stretching so tightly it felt like it might snap. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, but her expression had gone still—too still, like everything inside her had finally reached its limit. Michael looked like he wanted to say something else, something that might fix it, but nothing came out clean enough to matter anymore. Around them, the room kept moving, but they were frozen in a separate reality, one that no longer had a shared future.
Then Avery took a slow step back. And another. Her eyes never left his, but her voice came out low and steady, stripped of the earlier heat. "You really don't see it, do you?" she said quietly. Michael's brows tightened instantly. "Avery—" he started, but she shook her head once, cutting him off before he could even finish.
"No," she continued, her voice trembling now but holding firm. "You don't get to stand there and act like this is just a misunderstanding. You don't get to act like I chose any of this."
Michael's jaw clenched. "I never said—"
"You didn't have to say it," Avery cut in, sharper now, pain breaking through the calm. "You just expected it. Expected me to carry everything, fix everything, survive everything, and still smile like nothing was wrong."
That made him pause. Just for a second.
Avery let out a shaky breath, her eyes glassy but refusing to fall apart. "And the worst part?" she said, voice lower now, almost breaking. "Is that you're standing here acting like I'm the one who ruined everything."
Michael's expression shifted again—anger fading, replaced with something uncertain, almost conflicted—but before he could find words, Avery took another step back, putting space between them like it was the only way she could breathe again.
Then she turned sharply, heels striking the floor with a steady, controlled rhythm as she walked away—not running yet, not storming out in chaos, but leaving with a quiet finality that felt heavier than shouting ever could. Michael called her name once, then again, but she didn't stop. And this time, even without her saying it, it was clear something between them had already ended long before she reached the doors.
Avery didn't go home that night. She couldn't bring herself to. The city felt too loud, too indifferent, like it didn't care that her entire life had just split into something she could never stitch back together. She ended up in a quiet hotel lobby, sitting in a corner where the light was dim and the air felt still enough to breathe in small pieces. Her phone trembled in her hands for a long time before she finally pressed call, staring at the screen like it might reject her decision at any moment. When her sister picked up, Avery didn't even try to hold herself together for more than a few seconds. It all came out in broken fragments—Eleanor's control, Michael's impossible demands, the money, the pressure, the feeling of being pushed into corners she never chose. Her voice kept breaking as she spoke, and by the time she went quiet, she didn't even recognize how exhausted she sounded. Her sister didn't interrupt her once. She just listened, steady and present, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft but certain, telling Avery she wasn't failing—she was drowning in expectations that were never hers to carry alone. And that was the first time that night Avery felt something like grounding, even if everything around her was still collapsing.
The days after didn't feel like real days anymore. They blurred into a cycle of waking up already tired, working until her body felt like it belonged to someone else, and falling asleep without remembering when she had started drifting. She took every job she could find, stacking shifts without thinking about how long she could sustain it, because stopping wasn't something she allowed herself to consider. Money became the only language her life seemed to understand now, and even when she reached a quarter of a million, it didn't feel like progress—just a small scratch against something enormous that kept growing no matter how hard she worked. There were moments where she would pause and realize how far she still had to go, and instead of panic, there was only numb acceptance, like her mind had stopped reacting to stress it couldn't escape. Somewhere in that stretch of survival, she stopped thinking about who she used to be before all of this, because it felt irrelevant now, like remembering another person's life.
Michael eventually found her again, not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet inevitability of someone who had run out of distance to keep between them. When she saw him, she didn't react immediately. There was too much exhaustion sitting between them for shock to take priority anymore. He looked different too—less certain, less controlled, like something in him had finally started to crack under the weight of everything he had refused to understand before. When he spoke, it wasn't an accusation this time. It was an admission. He said he hadn't understood how much pressure she had been under, how much of it he had been blind to, how easily he had mistaken silence for stability. Avery didn't respond with anger anymore. She didn't have the energy for it. All she had left was honesty, and even that came out tired and quiet as she told him that understanding it now didn't change what it had done to her. There was no resolution in the conversation, no sudden healing, just the painful awareness that something between them had been permanently altered, whether they acknowledged it or not.
And all the while, the wedding continued to exist like a machine that refused to stop. Eleanor didn't slow down. If anything, she became more precise, more controlling, tightening her grip on every detail as if perfection could compensate for everything falling apart behind the scenes. Invitations, arrangements, costs, expectations—everything kept moving forward as if Avery's life wasn't simultaneously unraveling under it. Avery existed inside it like a passenger in a system she couldn't exit, still working, still paying, still trying to survive obligations that didn't reflect her reality anymore. Some nights, she would sit alone and stare at nothing, wondering how she had ended up here—trapped in a future that was being built for her but never with her. But even those thoughts never lasted long. They couldn't. Because survival didn't leave room for stopping, only for continuing, even when continuing felt like the hardest thing in the world.
A few days later, Avery stopped trying to count how long she had been running on empty. The work didn't slow down, and neither did the pressure. Every shift blended into the next until she couldn't tell whether she was exhausted from yesterday or tomorrow. Her phone stayed quiet most of the time, except for occasional messages from her sister checking in, reminding her she was still human even when she didn't feel like it. Avery would read them, sometimes reply, sometimes not, but the words always lingered longer than she expected, like they were trying to pull her back into a version of herself she had forgotten how to reach.
Michael didn't disappear again after that meeting. Instead, he stayed in orbit—never fully gone, never fully present either. He would appear briefly, sometimes outside her workplace, sometimes near places she passed on her way home, always careful not to overwhelm her, but never quite letting her forget he was still there. When they did talk, it wasn't the same as before. The sharp edges were gone, replaced with something quieter and more uncertain. He asked questions he should have asked earlier. He listened in ways he hadn't before. But Avery couldn't tell if that meant things were changing or if it was just too late for change to matter. She didn't push him away, but she didn't pull him closer either. She existed in the space between, unsure if forgiveness was something she could even afford anymore.
Eleanor, on the other hand, only intensified. The wedding preparations grew more elaborate, more expensive, more suffocating. It was no longer just about planning—it felt like control being polished into something beautiful enough that no one would question it. Every detail became non-negotiable. Every decision came with expectation. And Avery found herself slipping back into the same cycle she thought she had escaped, except now she was more aware of it, which somehow made it worse. She paid what she could, worked what she could, endured what she could, and still it never felt like enough. The number she was chasing still loomed over everything, unchanged and unforgiving.
And yet, in the quiet moments between exhaustion and obligation, something in Avery began to shift. It wasn't hope exactly. It was more like recognition. The understanding that if she kept living like this, she would disappear inside it completely. She didn't know yet what leaving would look like, or if she even had the strength to do it, but for the first time, the thought existed—not as a distant fantasy, but as something real enough to consider. And once it appeared, it didn't leave.
Avery reached the point where the money stopped feeling like the main problem, not because it was solved, but because something else had taken over entirely. The constant chasing, the endless calculations, the exhausting attempt to meet expectations that kept shifting—it all blurred into the background. What remained was the wedding itself, now no longer an abstract pressure hanging over her life, but a fixed date that kept getting closer no matter what she did. There was no more "catching up" to do. Only preparation. Only inevitability.
Eleanor treated this phase like a final performance rather than an event. Everything had to be flawless, controlled, and visually perfect in a way that left no room for deviation. Dresses were refitted multiple times, schedules were rewritten and tightened, and Avery found herself moving through fittings, rehearsals, and appointments like she was being assembled into a version of herself designed by someone else. The bridal gown alone felt like a symbol of everything she had endured—beautiful on the surface, heavy in meaning, and impossible to escape once it was on her. Each time she stood in front of a mirror, she felt less like a bride and more like something being presented.
Michael, too, had changed in the days leading up to the wedding. There was a quietness in him now, something more restrained than before. He no longer spoke in demands or expectations. Instead, he asked questions carefully, as if afraid of pushing her further away than she already was. When they saw each other during preparations, there were moments where it almost felt normal—brief conversations about timing, logistics, small attempts at understanding—but underneath it all was still the weight of everything they had not fixed. Avery couldn't tell if he was trying to rebuild something or simply accepting what was left of it. Either way, she no longer had the energy to chase clarity.
The closer the wedding day came, the more surreal everything felt. The house, the fittings, the constant movement of people preparing her life for a moment she hadn't fully agreed to emotionally—it all began to feel detached, like she was watching it happen rather than living it. Invitations were confirmed, guests were finalized, venues were prepared, and yet Avery felt strangely distant from all of it, as if the ceremony belonged to someone else entirely. She followed instructions, showed up where she was told, smiled when required, but inside there was a growing silence that nothing seemed to reach.
And in that silence, she began to realize something she hadn't allowed herself to think before: the wedding was not something she was walking toward anymore. It was something she was being carried into..