Everything was perfectly articulated—to make it the perfect evening it was meant to be. The fresh air of the venue in a hidden game of Vermont. Vintage, partially outdoors and most of all so the both of you.

Your heart thrummed from behind large doors, father gently holding your arm as he waited to walk you down. Down to her. Isadora. You knew she waited for you at the altar, the thought making you reel, everything so unreal yet the best thing to ever happen.

The doors open—a hush over the gathering growing, the quartet playing their song. John Pachelbel Canon in D flowing emotionally through the air.

The song pushing on the bruise of Isadora’s heart where her love for you lay. This song was the first classical piece she ever taught you to play on the battered old Nevermore piano after hours.

This song was what she practiced the night she realized she loved you, fingers trembling over every repetition of the main theme.

This song is what she hears in her head whenever she imagines a future where she’s allowed to keep you.

And now it’s the song you walk toward her to. Dress trailing behind, slow and gentle steps, heart racing with so much raw emotion.