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03. Broken, loveless marriage

Everything is exactly as I remember inside this damn church. The varnished and polished pews sparkle under the soft lighting of the candles along the sides. White flowers, from lilies to roses, adorn each pew, and their sweet scent fills the air.

As I walk down the central aisle, the sound of my steps resonates on the marble floor, echoing through the vast vaulted ceiling.

I watch the faces of the guests as I pass by. A few offer genuine smiles, but most of them seem more like a formality. Their forced expressions tell me more about what they expect from this marriage than any conversation we’ve ever had in this life or the previous one. If I were smarter, I would have noticed this sooner.

The music from the organ rises, dramatic and touching, blending with the guests’ murmurs and the sound of my footsteps. It carries both a promise and a hunch.

At the back, the altar is visibly prepared for a celebration, adorned with more white flowers and green vines. However, the space next to the priest reserved for the groom is empty — a detail that, somehow, doesn’t surprise me but previously hurt me deeply.

When I finally reach the altar, I stop and stand silent, looking at the huge image of Jesus Christ with open arms. I feel bitter and regretful for having blamed Him for my own mistakes, losing faith not only in God but also in myself.

While we wait for Christopher’s arrival, I exchange glances with my bridesmen, seeking comfort in their faces. Grandpa Marshall, placed at my side, shows a broad smile, his expression shining with pride and joy. Despite his blood tie with Christopher, it’s clear his loyalty and affection are with me.

Next to my cousin Elodie, who gives me a worried look, I see my uncle, who was briefly my adoptive father before the Houghton family took me in. His expression is composed, but his eyes reveal a silent sadness for the absence of my aunt, who passed away too soon. He tries to smile at me, a smile that carries as much love as melancholy for the life we could have shared if she were still with us.

My gaze then shifts to the groom’s side, and I feel my stomach twist. Sebastian, Christopher’s younger brother, looks particularly down today. His melancholic demeanor contrasts with the occasion, but a closer look reveals something deeper than simple sadness. It’s painful to see the mask of resignation he wears, knowing now that his heart holds feelings he shouldn’t.

I feel a knot in my throat, but I push these thoughts aside when, once again, the doors open, revealing Christopher and his expression, which could show anything… except happiness.

Christopher approaches the altar, and the silence in the church becomes deeper, almost palpable. I squeeze my bouquet, crushing the delicate white flowers in my trembling fingers, a subconscious reflection of the anxiety I feel inside.

Seeing him after so long makes me hold my breath. My throat is so tight that I can’t breathe. My heart pounds hard in my chest, so hard it seems about to burst... but, unlike the first time I walked up this altar, it’s not from happiness or love... It’s from the panic caused by wounds still so fresh.

When Christopher stepped up to this altar with me the first time, his dark brown hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his brown eyes were as cold as ever. Now, he’s still handsome and stylish like before, but the black suit he wears seems more suited for mourning than celebration, reflecting his dismay with a destiny he sees as inevitable: a broken, loveless marriage with a woman he despises.

Back then, I simply didn’t see it.

No, I didn’t want to see it.

The truth is all over my face; it always has been. The guests, the people who truly love me, all look at me worriedly and struggle to smile, feeling that only a life of misery awaits me... How could I have blinded myself so much?

Our eyes meet for a moment, bringing a chill to my chest. My lips twist, and I press them together, feeling all the bitterness I’ve nurtured over ten long years burning in me with flames I thought had extinguished.

When Christopher finally positions himself beside me, there’s no exchange of glances. His presence is as distant as his expression, and the void between us seems to grow.

The priest, a man with a serene expression, opens the large book of prayers on the altar and begins the ceremony with a voice that resonates through the vaults of the church.

“We begin this sacred gathering invoking the presence of God to witness the union of Charlotte and Christopher in holy matrimony,” he declares, marking the beginning of the ceremony with words that speak of eternal commitment and fidelity, the exact same words that sealed my ruin.

The priest continues with readings from biblical texts that emphasize the patience, kindness, and perseverance of love, but everyone in this place knows they are nothing but empty promises — at least for Christopher and me.

As the priest prolongs this ceremony, my mind goes to old and not-so-old memories of the life I just left behind. The details of this wedding are so precisely familiar, and the sensations so vivid, that I have no doubt anymore — I really returned ten years into the past.

“Christopher, do you take Charlotte as your lawful wife, to love her, honor her, and protect her, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?” The priest’s voice is firm, waiting for confirmation.

With a slight nod and a voice that barely reaches the first pews, Christopher murmurs, “I do.”

Liar. In all those words you agree to, you’ve failed at each one.

“Charlotte, do you take Christopher as your lawful husband, to love and honor him, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?” The priest looks at me, waiting for me to say those words again, those damned words that doomed me to that miserable life I spent with Christopher Houghton.

I take a deep breath, and no one makes a single sound. I can feel everyone’s attention on me, and even Christopher glances at me sideways, putting his stern eyes on me.

I open my lips to answer him, but everything passes through my mind, backward and forwards, again and again, alone back there in that prison of mine. I remember when my illness hit me hard, my foolish attempts to get my husband’s attention.

I remember the blood running down my legs on the bathroom floor when I lost our child, who was so close to being in my arms. I remember the moment Christopher brought Evelyn, his ex-girlfriend and mistress, into our house because I refused to sign the divorce papers. And the rain that fell on us, wetting my hair and mixing with my tears, at Grandpa Marshall’s funeral.

Our first and only night together.

The wedding night I spent alone.

Ten years of marriage, the rare moments I swear I saw him smile…

The moment I walked through the iron gates and saw him for the first time.

I subtly touch my belly, feeling tears in my eyes and that damn knot forming in my throat.

Henry, my son…

This time… Mama will save you.

With a sigh that makes it clear that my answer is more out of necessity than desire, I finally say, “I do.”

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