Where Vows End

The crystal chandelier at the engagement ceremony glowed with a blinding light. I gripped the white veil tightly, my fingertips breaking out in a fine sweat. The wedding dress was personally chosen by Matthew Copper. He said the pearls scattered along the hem resembled the shells I once gathered by the sea. The host glanced at his watch for the third time, while the murmurs from the guests below grew ever more distinct. My phone suddenly vibrated, displaying Sydney DeRoss' name. I took a deep breath and pressed the answer button. "Matthew is here with me," her voice dripping with deliberate sweetness, "He said he wanted to fulfill the promise on the first Wish Card." "What wish?" My voice trembled. "It's simple," Sydney chuckled softly, "He won't come to your engagement ceremony." The phone slipped from my palm, shattering against the red-carpeted steps. The cracks on the screen mirrored the fractures within my heart at that moment. Matthew pushed open the door, his suit still kissed by the evening breeze outside. He didn't glance at me, instead reaching straight for the black velvet box atop the coffee table. Within lay a hundred gilded Wish Cards—promises he owed Sydney from three years before. "Abigail," he said evenly, "I'm sorry, Sydney needs me." I watched his retreating back, suddenly recalling the words he had spoken three years ago. "Abigail, once I have repaid the debt I owe Sydney, I will stay with you forever." Yet, throughout these three years, he repeatedly pushed me away with those Wish Cards. When Sydney asked him to spend her birthday with her, he missed our anniversary. When Sydney asked him to delete my contact, he truly never reached out to me again. The ninety-ninth Wish Card arrived while I was training at the racetrack. Sydney's car suddenly crashed into my side, and my steering wheel instantly spiraled out of control. The moment the car slammed into the guardrail, I instinctively shielded my stomach. There lies a fragile life, barely two months old. By the time the ambulance arrived, my consciousness was already fading. Faintly, I heard the nurses whispering beside me. "Why has the blood bank run out of type A blood?" "It was transferred to the neighboring hospital. They said Miss DeRoss suffered a scrape and might need a reserve supply." "But this patient is still bleeding heavily..." "There's nothing we can do. It was Mr. Copper's command." When I woke on the operating table, my lower abdomen felt hollow and bare. The doctor stood beside me, his voice heavy: "Ms. Harris, I'm sorry, but the baby couldn't be saved." The phone lay on the bedside table, its screen softly glowing. Sydney updated her Instagram with a photo. She sat in the hospital room, a small band-aid on her arm, captioned: "Luckily, Matthew was here. Even a minor injury had me so nervous." Below, Matthew commented, "Be more careful next time." I picked up the phone and dialed Kevin Murphy's number. He was Matthew's rival and the only one who knew I held 10% of the Coppers' shares. "Mr. Murphy," my voice was cold, "Do you want the shares I hold?"