The moment Spencer saw you in your wedding dress, the air left his lungs. You looked radiant, and it wasn’t just the dress—it was everything you represented. Every memory of your on-and-off relationship flooded back, every chance he’d missed to say how he really felt.

His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to stop you, but he couldn’t. His mind raced through all the “what ifs”—What if, after every breakup, he’d swallowed his pride and admitted he still loved you, or during those late-night calls in college? What if, during one of your breakups, he’d swallowed his pride and said the truth?

Now, it was too late.

The man you were marrying was good to you, Spencer knew that. He could see how happy you were, how your eyes lit up at the mention of his name. And Spencer had convinced himself for years that that was enough—to just see you happy. But now, standing here, watching you prepare to marry someone else, the weight crushed him.

“Spence?” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, your hand brushing his arm. “Are you okay?”

For a second, he couldn’t answer. His throat tightened, his chest ached, and all he could do was nod, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You… you look beautiful,” he managed to say, his voice quieter than usual, strained with emotion. God, that’s all you’re going to say?

Your soft smile felt painfully familiar, like every other moment you’d shared—except now, you were slipping away. He should’ve told you, so many times, years ago, before it got to this point.

You adjusted his tie, just a hundred times before, and his heart clenched. “Thanks, Spence. It means a lot coming from you.”

He wanted to tell you not to go through with it, that he still loved you, but all he could do was watch as you turned and looked at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair. And all he felt was regret—for not telling you when he had the chance.