My husband, Clark, usually has a quiet demeanor and isn't fond of lively gatherings. Yet, this time, he insisted on being the best man at a friend's wedding. When we arrived, I noticed the bridesmaid was his first love, Raven. Not only did he link arms with her for a toast, but during the ceremony, he also caught the bouquet and pretended to propose to her on one knee.

I felt a wave of bitterness, tears welling up as I sought an explanation. His response was dismissive: "It's just a bit of fun between the best man and bridesmaid at weddings. Don't take it so seriously."

"We just wanted to make up for missed chances, and you're overreacting?" He was quick to address old regrets with Raven, yet conveniently forgot the wedding ceremony he owed me for seven years. In the past, I might have let it go, but this time, I felt utterly drained.

"You've never held a wedding, so you might not get it," Clark remarked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "It's just normal for the best man and bridesmaid to have fun at a wedding. You need to loosen up a bit." I nodded slightly, unable to shake off my deep disappointment.

Clark, being a doctor, barely takes any time off during the year. Over Thanksgiving, I had planned a getaway just for the two of us, but he insisted on being a groomsman for his friend instead. The trip I had been looking forward to for a year was suddenly canceled.

We stopped at a gas station, and I opened the shopping bag Clark had left in the back seat. Inside was a pair of beautiful, soft leather flats. My spirits lifted instantly. After wearing high heels for too long, the flats would be so much more comfortable for the outdoor wedding. Clark was always like this—appearing indifferent, yet just when I thought he didn’t care, he would surprise me with a thoughtful gesture.

"Thanks, I really like the shoes," I said, smiling. He stayed calm, but there was a strange look in his eyes. When I tried them on, they didn’t fit. My feet are a size eight, but he had bought a size six.

Clark didn’t offer an explanation and quietly drove on. It wasn’t until we arrived at the wedding venue and I saw Raven that I understood who the shoes were for. Raven, in her snow-white gown, naturally walked over to stand beside Clark, who looked dapper in his suit.

She stood there, beaming at me, "Winnie, thank you for coming to our wedding." My heart twisted painfully, like a piece was missing. I looked at Raven’s bridal-like dress and asked, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're the bridesmaid, right?"

My question made the wedding staff glance our way. They whispered, gesturing toward Raven, "Is she the bridesmaid? Why is she dressed like that? People might think she’s the bride."

"The bridesmaid should complement the bride, and she's going too far."

Raven looked pained, wavering slightly. Clark stepped in front of her, his words to me were filled with reproach: "We're already married, and it seems improper for me to be a best man, so are you trying to stir things up against me, Miss Journalist?"

The bitterness in my throat was overwhelming, leaving me speechless. Devin, the groom, hurried over to smooth things over, pleading for patience: "It's my big day, a once-in-a-lifetime event. The three of us—Clark, Raven, and I—are old friends, and we seldom get the chance to be together. Winnie, please don't overthink this, just let it go."

Why is it that even when I’ve done nothing wrong, they already see me as guilty of the worst offenses? My throat feels bitter, and there's a weight pressing down as if I'm swallowing shards of glass.

At precisely eight o'clock, the bridal party gathered outside our new home to play entrance games. "Let's start with a toast!" Devin Berry handed two small glasses of whiskey to Clark Davis and Raven Gilbert, grinning mischievously.

Their faces flushed as they linked arms, bringing their faces close together. Clark’s Adam's apple moved with elegance as he swallowed. A memory surfaced—whether it was the first time he met my family or during Thanksgiving dinners over the past seven years, he never touched alcohol. No matter how much my dad and relatives encouraged him to enjoy a drink with the in-laws, he always refused with a firm face, saying, "I'm a doctor; alcohol affects the nervous system and causes tremors."

Yet here was Clark, brow furrowed as he quickly downed his drink. Without hesitating at the burn, he grabbed Raven's unfinished glass and emptied it. "This stuff packs a punch; I’ll drink hers too."

As soon as the glasses were put away, Devin held up a piece of chocolate tied to a string, with a mysterious smile. "Clark, Raven, let's see how well you work together. Reaching my bride's door depends on you."

Amidst the cheers, Clark and Raven faced each other, leaning forward to reach the dangling sweet. Raven’s cheeks were flushed, and even the usually stoic Clark had ears tinged with red.

As their faces drew closer, the knot in my chest tightened. Under my intense gaze, the chocolate softened from the warmth of their mouths. When their lips finally met, Clark jerked back, quickly pulling away. But I saw it—Raven's seemingly accidental, light lick against his lips.

Devin tossed the barely-eaten chocolate aside, shouting, "Congrats on the wedding! May your love be sweet and joyful! You've passed the test; open the door!"

My legs felt heavy as lead, and I trailed behind the crowd. The noise around me was overwhelming, yet inside, I felt only emptiness. Clark, standing tall amid the group, suddenly turned to look at me. I saw a flicker of worry, guilt, and hesitation in his eyes.

I pressed my nails into my palms and forced a smile his way. Clark relaxed his tense expression, returning my smile with a gentle one of his own.

I suddenly recall the day I first met Clark Davis. We were both navigating the debris of a disaster-stricken area, trying to document the devastation on camera to raise awareness and gather resources. Amidst the ruins, I encountered Clark, tirelessly working to save lives. That day, he seemed to radiate hope, his white coat trailing behind him like a hero's cape.

Because Clark was always so busy, I never asked for a wedding, nor did I demand his constant presence. His distant nature meant I never expected romance or attention. As a journalist, I prided myself on being pragmatic about relationships. Yet, meeting Clark taught me that falling in love could mean sacrificing everything.

"Clark, get ready to welcome the bride!" Devin Berry called out. Amidst the playful shouts, Clark took the bouquet from Devin and got down on one knee before Raven Gilbert. Tears glistened in Raven’s eyes as she solemnly accepted the bouquet from him. "I do," she declared.

A sharp pain gripped my heart, a sting behind my eyes. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, I couldn't deceive myself any longer. Even without having a wedding of my own, I knew these rituals were meant for the bride and groom.

Everyone was stunned, even the bride waiting at the bridal table, her joyous smile frozen in place. "I was just showing Clark how it's done," Devin tried to joke it off, taking the bouquet from Raven and proposing to the bride again.

The bride, visibly upset and lost in thought, pretended not to notice. "It's almost time. Let's get to the venue," Devin continued, attempting to lighten the mood.

Downstairs, at the line of wedding cars, Devin directed everyone to get into their vehicles. I stood waiting for Clark, expecting that as his wife, we’d share a car, even if he was acting as the best man. Suddenly, Raven, with tears threatening to spill, tugged on Clark's sleeve and whispered something. Clark swept her up in his arms, and under everyone's watchful eyes, they got into the lead Bentley together.

Now, not just the bride, but even Devin was at a loss for words. The bride looked at me with a dark expression and threw her bouquet to the ground. "They're in my wedding car. Where am I supposed to sit?"

Devin awkwardly suggested, "The convertible behind the lead car is lovely too. We can quickly spruce it up with the bouquet."

The bride, struggling to contain her anger, snapped, "Devin Berry, what is going on with them? Who's getting married today, exactly?"

"If you don’t provide me with an explanation, I’m not getting into that car."