Page 9 of Shattered

About eight minutes later, Daniel emerged from the suite looking like he’d been wrung out. He looked exhausted, older than his thirty-three years, like he’d aged a decade in the last hour.

“Jake left,” he said. “Texted her. Said his ex-girlfriend is pregnant.”

The words landed like punches. “Hetextedher?”

“Right before she was supposed to walk down the aisle.” Daniel’s voice was thick with rage, then he inhaled raggedly and palmed his face, worry flooding his eyes. “She’s in there. Sarah’s with her, but—” He stopped. Ran his hand through his hair.“Mom’s confused about what happened and I can’t handle both right now. Can you check on Delia?”

“What do you need?”

“Just—be there. She won’t talk to anyone.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Where is she?”

“Bridal suite. Last door on the left.”

I found the room easily. The door was partially open. Inside, Delia sat on the floor in a pool of white silk and lace, her face blank, her hands loose in her lap. Her maid of honor hovered nearby, mascara running, looking helpless.

For a moment I just stood there, looking at the girl who’d refused to let me disappear as a child. The girl who’d talked at me until I talked back. She had saved me without even knowing she was doing it.

And now she was the one falling apart.

I stepped inside and said her name.

The least I could do was sit on the floor with her while her world collapsed around her.

When she finally said she needed to leave, I drove her home. We didn’t speak during the drive. She stared out the window at the city sliding past, still in her wedding dress, looking small and lost in a way that made my chest ache.

I wanted to say something. Wanted to offer comfort or reassurance or anything that might help. But I’d never been good with words, especially not around her. Silence was safer—less likely to reveal things that needed to stay hidden.

At her building, I put the car in park.

“Do you need help upstairs?” I asked.

“I’m not an invalid. Just abandoned.”

“I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

She got out without arguing. I watched her disappear through the doors, watched the elevator lights climb. Herapartment was on the sixth floor. When the lights stopped moving, I counted to sixty. Then another sixty.

Her window stayed dark, stubbornly unchanged.

I sat there because leaving felt wrong. Because some part of me needed to be sure she was safe, even if safe just meant alone in her apartment processing the worst day of her life.

My phone rang. Daniel.

“Is she okay?”

The question was impossible to answer honestly. Was anyone okay after being abandoned at their own wedding?

“She will be,” I said instead.

“Thank you for staying with her. I know you don’t—” He stopped. “I know this is hard for you. Being around her. I’ve always known.”

The words settled between us. Years of mindful space, acknowledged in a single sentence.

“It’s fine,” I said.

After we hung up, I sat in my car watching Delia’s building and forced myself to confront the truth I’d been avoiding.