Eventually, months later, Sofia started rebuilding her life.
She moved out of her old place, needing a change, and into a small apartment downtown.
She took a new job at a nonprofit where no one knew her story.
Sofia also cut her hair and adopted a cat.
She told herself she was moving on, even when the ache still hovered behind her ribs.
But the truth would not stay buried for long.
It was a random Thursday evening, nearly a year after the wedding that never was, when Sofia stopped at the grocery store after work.
She was standing in the dairy aisle, debating between almond and oat milk, when she heard someone say her name.
“Sofia?”
She turned, confused, and saw a woman in a navy blazer with a plastic name tag pinned to it.
Her hair was styled down, and she looked hesitant, as if she were waiting to be recognized.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Sofia asked, clutching her basket.
“I work with Ethan,” the woman said, her voice tightening. “Or — I used to.”
Sofia’s stomach flipped, but she kept her expression neutral.
“Okay.”
The woman appeared to be struggling internally.
Then, with a nervous breath, she blurted, “You knew why he left, right?”
Sofia blinked.
“What? Yes, he left because he couldn’t go through with the wedding.”
The woman frowned.
“I thought you knew. That’s not the whole story. Ethan was… he was getting paid to marry you.”
Sofia let out a short laugh.
A sharp, bitter sound that startled even her.
“Excuse me?!”
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