Time Takes Back My Wedding Veil

I sat on the bench by the entrance, my fingertips tracing the plain ring on my ring finger over and over. Today was the day Peter Shawn returned to the country. Eight years, more than two thousand nine hundred days and nights. I waited — from twenty-two to thirty — from a naive, clueless college graduate to a confident, independent designer. The only thing that never changed was his promise: "I'll marry you when I come back." The wall clock in the foyer ticked on, each tick pressing heavy against my heart. I counted the seconds, imagining him pushing open the door, imagining him opening his arms to hold me and say, "Ella, I'm home. Let's get married." When I heard the door lock turn, my heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst from my chest. I quickly smoothed the edge of my clothes and tucked stray strands of hair behind my ears. The door opened, and Peter Shawn stood there wearing a light gray trench coat. His broad, upright shoulders looked more mature than eight years ago, his features sharper, with faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Yet his gaze held a strange distance, something I couldn't quite understand. His left hand held a woman's. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, the ends curling naturally. She wore an off-white dress embroidered with delicate pearls along the hem. Her smile was gentle, and when she looked at me, there was a polite, cautious curiosity in her eyes. "Ella, let me introduce you. This is Quincy Scott, my fiancée." Peter Shawn's voice was calm, as if he were speaking about the most ordinary thing in the world. I froze in place, the plain ring on my finger suddenly scorching hot, so hot I could barely hold it. That heat spread from my fingertips, burning my palm and wrist, finally settling over my chest, making it painfully hard to breathe. The air was unbearably still, broken only by the relentless ticking of the wall clock. Quincy's smile was a little awkward as she gently tugged at Peter's sleeve: "Are we disturbing Ms. Lincoln?" Peter Shawn didn't say a word, just looked at me with eyes heavy with complicated feelings—guilt, avoidance, but none of the longing I had hoped to see. I took a deep breath, holding back the tears trembling at the edge of my eyes. My lashes quivered as I slowly lifted my hand, slipped the plain ring off my ring finger, and clenched it tightly in my palm.