His Rival, Her Redemption

It was my ninety-ninth wedding day with Mark Johnson, ten years of my life waiting, and I stood on the cold stone steps of City Hall, my simple white dress already damp.

My phone rang. It was him. "Olivia, I can't make it today." He was ditching our wedding, our ninety-ninth attempt, for a limited edition Chronos watch for his mistress, Sarah Miller.

The rain soaked into my hair, my dress, my soul. He hung up. My bouquet of white roses scattered on the wet pavement. Ten years. Ninety-nine broken promises. I had put so many projects on hold for him, for a future he never intended to build.