ELENA
The courthouse on Centre Street. Grey stone. Long corridors. We waited seventeen minutes before our name was called.
Sophia. Isla. Marlo. Nicholas.
I was in a simple cream dress. Nicholas in a dark suit.
The judge was efficient and warm. She read the words. We repeated it back.
Nicholas's voice was even and clear — he said I do like he was doing business.
I said I do and meant the legal version of it which was the only version I had agreed to.
Then Nicholas reached into his jacket pocket.
I looked at his hand.
A thin gold band. Simple and clean.
He slid it onto my finger without a word.
No speech or explanation. Just that he had it. He had come prepared and I did not know what to do with it.
I looked at my hand.
Then at him.
He was already looking at the judge.
I loo
