Chapter 4
Ten minutes before the wedding was set to begin, the makeup artist carefully covered up the bloodstain on my sleeve.
She lowered her voice and asked, "Miss Evans, do you want to throw on a shawl to cover it up?"
I shook my head. "No, it's fine."
David walked in, holding a glass of warm water.
He came over and glanced at my arm, concern flickering in his eyes.
"What did the doctor say?" David asked.
I replied softly, "The wound opened up a bit."
He frowned, worry etched on his face.
"Once the ceremony's over, I'll take you to the hospital," he said.
He handed me the glass of water.
"Just hang in there, it'll be over soon," he said softly.
I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his.
His palm was still warm.
He looked at me, guilt, tenderness, and even a bit of impatience showing in his eyes.
The concern was real, and so was the impatience.
Rachel was leaning against the door, wrapped up in David's coat.
Her face was pale, and her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Claire, I'm feeling much better now," she said softly.
"Did I scare you just now?"
I didn't say anything.
David shot me a look.
"Claire, Rachel didn't mean it," he said.
I quietly lowered my head and took a sip of water.
The warm water slid down my throat, like swallowing a sentence I never got to say.
The emcee came over to hurry us along.
"Groom and bride, it's time to take the stage," he called out.
David took my hand.
"Let's go," he said.
We stood just behind the doors of the banquet hall.
Outside, the lights came on, and the guests fell silent.
The emcee's voice rang out. "Today, we gather to witness the love between Mr. David Foster and Miss Claire Evans."
Love.
Hearing that word, I suddenly felt spaced out.
David turned to look at me.
"Don't be scared," he said softly.
He whispered, just for me, so no one else could hear. "Once the wedding's over, I'll make it up to you for everything."
Making it up.
He was forever making it up to me.
Making up for missed fireworks, for my birthday, for every time he let me down, for the seventeen calls I made last night.
Now I couldn't tell anymore if that was love, or just him trying to ease his own guilt.
The doors swung open.
We walked down the aisle together.
My hand rested on his arm, and with every step, the pain in my wound was tugged at.
The applause was thunderous.
But I could hear David's phone buzz in his pocket.
David glanced down at his phone.
A message from Rachel lit up the screen.
Rachel: [David, I feel like I can't breathe again.]
David paused for a moment.
I paused as well.
The emcee smiled, trying to smooth things over.
"Looks like the groom's just a little too excited," he said.
David put his phone away and kept walking.
As we reached the flower arch, Rachel suddenly stood up from the bridesmaid's seat.
Her face was ghostly pale, and she was clutching the back of the chair, looking like she might collapse at any moment.
The guests started to panic.
"What's wrong with the bridesmaid?"
"Is it low blood sugar?"
David's hand tightened around mine.
He looked at me.
I didn't look at him.
The emcee lowered his voice and reminded him, "Mr. Foster, the vows are about to start."
David's Adam's apple bobbed.
Someone near Rachel shouted, "Mr. Foster, Miss Harrison can't catch her breath!"
Finally, David let go of my hand.
"Claire, I'm just going to take a look," he said.
His voice was low and urgent. "Just for a second."
My fingers curled slightly at my side.
He didn't wait for my answer.
He hurried off the stage, pushed through the crowd, and scooped Rachel into his arms.
Rachel instinctively pressed herself against him, her fingers gripping his collar.
'Did I make things difficult for you again?' Rachel whispered, her voice trembling.
David murmured gently, comforting her.
"Don't talk. Just breathe," he said.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
The emcee froze on stage.
I stood alone under the flower arch, with a huge wedding photo behind me.
In the picture, David was holding me close, his eyes shining with happiness.
But outside the photo, David was holding another woman, without even looking back at me.
The wound on my arm burst open.
Blood dripped from my fingertips onto the white carpet.
One drop.
And then another.
Like a crimson mark branding this wedding.
David carried Rachel toward the lounge.
As he reached the door, he finally turned back.
"Claire, wait for me," he said.
He was still so certain, so sure I'd be there for him.
He never doubted I'd wait, never leave, and that I'd love him enough to always put myself last.
I watched as David slipped away behind the door.
The emcee quietly asked, "Miss Evans, should we keep going with the wedding?"
I didn't say a word.
I just slowly took off my veil and set it down under the flower arch.
Then I lifted my dress, stepped over the drops of blood, and turned to walk out of the banquet hall.
Behind me, people gasped.
Someone called out my name.
But this time, I had no intention of turning around.