Tristan called me at six in the morning.
I didn’t answer.
He called again.
Then again.
Finally, he sent a message.
Please meet me. I made the biggest mistake of my life.
I deleted it.
An hour later, someone knocked on our door.
It was Tristan.
His expensive suit looked wrinkled.
His eyes were red.
He stood there without his parents.
“I was wrong.”
I said nothing.
“I don’t care about the wedding anymore.”
“That makes two of us.”
He swallowed.
“I care about you.”
I shook my head.
“You cared about me yesterday too.”
He looked confused.
“I always did.”
“No.”
I pointed toward the street.
“Yesterday you looked at my father and decided he wasn’t good enough.”
He lowered his head.
“I was arrogant.”
“You were cruel.”
“I know.”
“You humiliated the man who raised me.”
“I know.”
“And you did it in front of 120 people.”
He began crying.
“Please forgive me.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I said something I had never imagined I would say.
“I forgive you.”
His face lifted.
“But I’m not marrying you.”
His expression collapsed.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I finally saw who you were when you thought nobody important was watching.”
He stood silently.
Then he nodded.
“I understand.”
He turned away.
Before he reached the truck, I called after him.
“Tristan.”
He looked back.
“You were right about one thing.”
He waited.
“I deserve a better family.”
Then I closed the door.
THE END — THE WEDDING THAT NEVER HAPPENED
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