The morning sun filtered through the stained glass of the church, casting colorful patterns on the polished wooden floor. I sat in the groom's room, which exuded an air of pretentious solemnity, surrounded by remnants of wedding decorations—ribbons, flowers, and that sickly sweet scent of something floral that lingered in the air like a suffocating fog. My tailored suit felt stifling, each stitch a reminder of the life I was about to enter, one I wasn't entirely sure I wanted. My conscience felt like a stubborn bear trapped behind the bars of my reason, growling and clawing for attention, while I put on a brave face.
Think of Jayla, I muttered to myself, my fingers tracing the lapel of my jacket. This was supposed to be her day, the culmination of dreams she had carefully woven over count
