His City Hall Bride, His Cathedral Wedding

A sliver of glass had cut into my finger too, but I didn't stop.

By the time I threw the last broken piece into the trash, dawn had turned the sky a thin gray-blue.

New York was almost morning.

I went into the bathroom, washed the blood from my hands, and changed into the simplest black dress I owned. Then I pulled my suitcase upright and took one final look around the place I had once believed would become home.

The fireplace was cold.

The vases were empty.

Wedding invitations were scattered across the coffee table.

The ivory gloves I had bought for the ceremony were still draped over the arm of the sofa, like some relic from a life that had never really existed.

I walked over to the invitations and fed them, one by one, into the fireplace.

The flames curled up instantly. The gold lettering blackened and shrank.

Luca Moretti.

Evelyn Carter.

A few seconds later, both names were ash.

I didn't look twice.

I rolled my suitcase out the door.

At 5:20 a.m., Manhattan's sky hung low and heavy, like a slab of lead.

The driver loaded my bag into the trunk and asked where I was headed.

I looked at the streetlights coming awake one by one in the gloom and said, "JFK. Or any hotel near it."

As the car pulled away from the brownstone and the neighborhood disappeared behind me, I leaned back against the seat and watched the city recede through the window.

No phone calls. No messages. No looking back.

From that moment on, I knew it was over between Luca and me. Truly over.

At the same time, inside the VIP wing of NewYork-Presbyterian, Luca was still sitting by Sophia's hospital bed.

The doctor had said she'd been frightened badly enough to trigger warning signs, but for the moment there were no more serious complications. She clung to his sleeve and cried every time he shifted, as if the world would collapse the second he stepped away from her.

So he stayed.

He sat there all night.

Only after daylight had fully broken did the wedding cross his mind again.

His gaze shifted from the window to Sophia in the bed behind him.

Her lips were pale, her eyes swollen from crying, and she looked as if she might fall apart the second he stood up and left.

He was silent for two seconds.

Then he picked up his phone and called the cathedral.

“This is Luca Moretti,” he said coldly. “Put everything on hold. No guests are to be seated until further notice.”

There was a brief pause on the other end.

Then the staff member said carefully, “Mr. Moretti… Ms. Carter came in last night and canceled the wedding.”

His expression changed at once. “What did you say?”