Tear to wither away

# Chapter 1: The High School Sweethearts Anne had always dreamed of a fairy-tale life, and marrying Vincent right after high school seemed like the perfect beginning. They met in sophomore year, bonded over late-night study sessions and stolen kisses in the school parking lot. It was during a rainy afternoon in the library that Vincent first noticed her. Anne was hunched over her sketchbook, her long chestnut hair falling like a curtain around her face, pencil moving in swift, confident strokes. He slid into the seat across from her, peering over the table. “Is that me?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face. She looked up, startled, cheeks flushing pink. The portrait was unmistakably him—his sharp jawline, the dimple in his left cheek, the way his hair curled slightly at the ends. From that moment, something clicked. They started dating officially a week later. Vincent was the charming quarterback with an infectious smile that could light up the entire football field on Friday nights. Anne, quieter, more introspective, was the girl who lived in oversized sweaters and carried paint-stained fingers like badges of honor. She sketched his portraits in her notebook during algebra class, hiding them behind textbooks when the teacher walked by. He’d sneak her notes in the hallway, folded into tiny football shapes: *Meet me after practice. I’ll bring hot chocolate.* Their friends teased them relentlessly—Sarah, Anne’s loud and loyal best friend, called them “the prom king and queen of nerds.” The proposal came on graduation day. The ceremony had ended, caps tossed into the air, families milling about on the football field taking photos. Vincent pulled Anne aside near the bleachers, the sun setting behind them in streaks of orange and pink. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a simple silver ring with a tiny diamond chip, and got down on one knee. “Anne Marie Thompson,” he said, voice cracking, “I don’t want to do life without you. Marry me?” She cried, nodded, laughed all at once. Their parents were stunned—Margaret and Robert, Anne’s practical, churchgoing folks, worried about finances and college plans. Vincent’s single mother, Elena, a nurse who’d raised him alone after his father skipped town when he was five, just hugged them both and whispered, “Be good to each other.” Their wedding was simple—a backyard ceremony at Anne’s parents’ house, string lights hung between maple trees, folding chairs borrowed from the church. Anne wore a second-hand lace dress she’d found at a thrift shop and altered herself, adding delicate beaded sleeves. Vincent looked dashing in a rented tux, his hair slicked back, eyes shining with nervous excitement. Sarah was maid of honor, Liam—Anne’s older brother, home from his first year of college—walked her down the aisle. Elena stood proudly in the front row, clutching a tissue. They exchanged vows they’d written themselves, promising forever under a sky just turning twilight blue. Little did Anne know, the cracks in their foundation were already forming, hidden beneath the excitement of young love, like hairline fractures in porcelain no one notices until it shatters.