“Not running,” I smiled. “Unless you give me a reason to.”
Meeting Evan was… complicated. He was polite, sure. But distant. Guarded. Like he’d built an emotional fortress and posted “No Trespassing” signs at every corner.
“So, your dad says you’re into astronomy,” I offered one night over dinner.
“Sometimes,” he replied.
“I used to love stargazing. Maybe we could—”
“I usually do that alone.”
Daniel gave him a pointed look. “Evan, be polite.”
“I am being polite, Dad.”
And he was. Technically. But he never let me in. He answered questions with a blank face, always using “ma’am” like I was a school principal, not someone trying to bond.
One night, I offered to help with his homework. He looked up and said flatly, “You’re not my mom.”
“I know,” I replied gently. “I’m not trying to be.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then turned back to his math. That wall between us never cracked.
Still, I kept trying. And Daniel reassured me, “He’ll come around. He’s had it rough. It just takes time.”
I believed him.
We got engaged one rainy evening in November. He proposed at our favorite restaurant, kneeling with trembling hands and eyes full of tears. I said yes, heart full of hope.
When we told Evan, he forced a smile and muttered, “Congratulations.”
For a fleeting moment, I thought we were making progress.
I was wrong.
—
The morning of our wedding was picture-perfect. The garden venue shimmered with early sun, white roses spilling over every archway. My dress hung like magic, the makeup artist had worked miracles, and everything looked like a dream.
Except I couldn’t stop pacing.
I was halfway through checking my bouquet for the tenth time when there was a knock at the bridal suite door.
“Come in!” I called, expecting my maid of honor.
Instead, it was Evan.
He looked uncomfortable in his suit, shifting from foot to foot, face pale.
“Hey,” he mumbled. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”
I blinked. “Of course. Are you okay?”
“Not here. Can we… go outside or something?”
I followed him down a side hallway and out toward the garden patio. Guests were mingling in the distance, but here, it was quiet.
“Evan, what’s going on?”
He looked up at me, dark eyes filled with a tension I didn’t understand.
“Don’t marry my dad.”
The words hit me like ice water.
“What?”
“I know you think I’m just being a kid,” he said quickly. “Or that I don’t like you. But I do like you. You’re kind and funny and you make pancakes better than anyone I know. And you never yell when I forget to take off my muddy shoes.”
“Then… why are you saying this?”
“Because he’s going to hurt you.”
My throat tightened. “Evan, what are you talking about?”
