And now David was calling me from his wedding, confessing his love for me.
“I can’t marry her, Emma. Because I still love you. I wish it was you.”
I took a deep breath. The anger I felt toward my parents was overwhelming. But there was also a hard truth underneath it: this was a chance to reclaim a love stolen from us.
“Where are you?” I asked.
He gave me the address of the church. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door.
When I pulled up, David was standing outside, pale and shaking. The second our eyes met, everything I’d tried to bury surged back to the surface.
We talked in the open air with the weight of five lost years between us. He said he didn’t fight hard enough. I told him my parents had no right to decide our future.
Continue reading on the next page 👇
