I didn’t dare look down at my hand yet. I looked at him instead.
My heart beating loudly in my chest.
Twenty-four hours ago, I’d been standing across from him in a garden full of fairy lights, promising him everything. Now I was standing over his tuxedo as if it were evidence.
I’m getting ahead of myself; let me back up.
***
My name is Sharon. I’m 27, and until that morning, I would’ve told you I had the least dramatic love story of anyone in my friend group. Which, if you knew my dating history, would’ve been a genuine miracle.
As if it were evidence.
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