"You're pregnant?"

Something detonated in my ears, a sharp crack that didn't belong to the room.

It took me a long moment to steady myself. Then I gave a cold smile and turned to Harry Henson.

"Leonora's pregnant. Why are you the one losing it? Don't tell me the baby's yours."

The hospital room went dead silent.

Harry froze.

He looked at me, and the smile he forced was a fraction off.

"How could it be? I just thought it was... unexpected."

I didn't bother answering. I only turned, slowly, to Leonora.

"So when are you finally going to bring this boyfriend of yours around for me to meet?"

I'd always known Leonora had a boyfriend.

From the first time she mentioned him, I'd offered to vet him myself.

She was my best friend. I genuinely wanted her to find the man who'd make her happy.

But every time, he was away on business, or buried in some project at a make-or-break stage.

From start to finish, I never once laid eyes on this so-called boyfriend.

The thought pulled a thin, bitter smile out of me.

Right. Her boyfriend really was a busy man.

Busy juggling two women, busy switching between two identities without missing a beat, busy making sure I never found out he existed.

Leonora dropped her eyes and, without thinking, glanced at Harry.

The instant their eyes met, Harry was the first to look away.

"If he's willing... I'll definitely bring him to meet you."

I closed my eyes. I had no patience left for the way the two of them kept stealing those furtive looks.

"You should both head back. I want to sleep for a while."

The moment the door shut, the room was finally mine alone.

I opened my eyes and picked up the phone from the nightstand. The screen was full of messages from Andy.

"Sis, are you okay?

"You didn't drink that glass of wine, did you?"

"Why aren't you answering?"

"Don't tell me... you said yes to Harry Henson's proposal?"

I stared at the screen and slowly typed out a few words.

"I didn't accept his proposal. I cut every tie with him for good."

Andy's reply came almost instantly.

"Then what's your plan now, sis?"

I leaned back against the pillow and thought about it, eyes on the ceiling.

"Let's talk once I've recovered."

Through those days in the hospital, Harry showed up at my door without fail, every single day, soup in hand.

"Sarah, I made this myself. Drink a little more."

He said it so naturally that it threw me, as if none of it had ever happened.

I looked at his face, and suddenly I was eighteen again.

That was the year my father lost at the tables and buried himself in debt.

When the men he owed came pounding on the door, my father dropped to his knees, his shaking hand pointing at me.

"I really can't pay. I'll give her to you instead. Will that do?"

I remember standing in the corner, shaking all over.

They laughed and grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the door, their nails sinking into my flesh until the tears spilled from the pain.

And just when I thought it was all over, Harry came bursting in with a butcher's cleaver.

He was still a thin slip of a boy then, but he planted himself in front of me, stubborn as anything, blade leveled at the men, and roared,

"You touch her and see what happens."

The men stared for a beat, then burst out laughing.

"Kid, who the hell do you think you are?"

Then the fists came down, the clubs came down, all of it raining over his head.

I was thrown aside, my mind still catching up to what was happening, when I saw Harry clawing his way across the floor toward me, throwing his whole body over mine to cover me.

His blood dripped onto my face, one drop after another, but he held me as if he couldn't feel a thing, still trying to soothe me.

"Sarah, don't be scared. I'm here."

I sobbed and tried to push him off, tried to make him go, and he wouldn't budge.

It wasn't until he'd been beaten half to death that someone finally called the police.

When the sirens started, the men scattered.

I held Harry, soaked in blood, my hands shaking so hard I could barely keep pressure on the wound.

He looked at me through half-open eyes, and his lips moved.

"It's all right now... Sarah."

I didn't know when the tears had started. By the time I noticed, my whole face was wet.

I lifted my head slowly, looked at the Harry standing at the foot of the bed, and the words came out before I could stop them.

"Harry. How did you turn into this?"

The thermos slipped out of his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud, soup splashing out, soaking the cuffs of his pants and the floor.

He froze, then dropped into a crouch and scrambled to clean it up, fumbling at it for a while and getting nowhere, until he just kicked the thermos aside.

"Sarah, how can you say that?"

"I haven't changed..."

He came toward me, his voice unsteady.

"I've always loved you. I did before, I do now, and I always will."

Then something seemed to occur to him, and he went on.

"Is it... is it because the baby's gone, and now you feel insecure?"

He reached out and pulled me into his arms.

"Sarah, let's get married. All right?"

Before I could get a word out, he let go and hurried for the door.

"Sarah, wait for me. I'm going to set up the venue. I'm going to give you a wedding you'll never forget."

Watching that door close again, I felt a strange flicker of absurdity.

He seemed so certain that no matter what happened, it had to be him.

When Leonora heard we were getting married, she offered to design the invitations and decorate the bridal suite.

Harry frowned but didn't refuse. He only said, "Be careful. Don't get anything wrong."

For all his reminding, the last step still went sideways.

When the invitations reached my hands, the line for the bride read, clear as day: Leonora Simmons.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah. I really didn't mean to..."

"The studio said they mixed up the template, and I didn't check it carefully. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

The wedding was too close to reprint them.

She came over carefully, took out a pen, and gently crossed out the name Leonora Simmons, then wrote in Sarah James, one stroke at a time.

"There, that fixes it," Leonora said, handing me the invitation. "Not pretty, I know, but better than not being able to use them at all."

Harry glanced at the invitation in my hand, his brow drawn tight, and it was a long moment before he spoke.

"Be more careful next time."

I forced a faint smile. Harry, there isn't going to be a next time for us.

On the wedding day, Harry stood on the stage in a black suit, watching the doors of the church.

But an hour passed, then two, and those doors never opened.

The guests began to murmur, and his face darkened, little by little.

"Harry, is it the invitation? Is Sarah upset about that?"

He frowned, a thread of impatience in his voice.

"You didn't do it on purpose. And anyway, Sarah isn't like that."

Two more hours passed, and Harry finally couldn't stand there any longer. He stepped down off the stage and started calling me.

The line just kept ringing through to nothing.

At the stroke of noon, the church doors finally swung open.

Every head turned at once, only to find a handful of uniformed staff walking in.

Their faces gave away nothing. They said not a word, simply moving down the aisle to hand fresh invitations to every guest.

Harry Henson stood rooted in place, brow drawn tight, unable to make sense of any of it.

Someone opened an invitation, glanced down, and watched their expression curdle into something strange.

"The bride's name on this. Wasn't it supposed to be Sarah James? Why does it say Leonora Simmons?"

Harry froze. It took him a long moment to surface.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

The lead staff member gave a faint smile.

"No need to worry, Mr. Henson. Miss James has also prepared a wedding gift for you and Miss Simmons."

The words had barely left his mouth when the wide screen at the front of the church flared to life.

The instant Harry saw it, his blood ran cold.