The year was 1945.

"Is the veil too much?" You asked tentatively, turning around to face your family and friends, wearing a wedding dress.

The crowd burst out in squeals and one of your friends runs towards you; "Are you kidding, you look perfect!"

You bounce up and down in a girlish way.

"Wait until Lon sees you in this dress, he's gonna go crazy!" Your mother's friend exclaims.

The name strikes a cord within you.

Lon. Your fiancé. The man who gave you the ring on your finger, the promise to love you until death, to provide for you. The guy that was extremely wealthy and handsome and funny.

"Have you seen this mornin's paper?" One of your friends exclaims, and holds it up. The Daily Journal says you are going to be the social highlight of the season!"

You grab the paper. You flip the paper down to see more of the article-and your nearly heart stops.

There-on the second page-is a face you never dreamed you'd ever see again.

Noah.

Standing with his hands in his pockets in that familiar way he always did. His face brought twin flames of confusion and despair through your stomach.

He's standing behind a house-

A white house. With blue shutters.

Before your eyes, a memory flashes-four years ago, the summer of 1940-Noah took you to that exact abandoned house, and he had talked about how he'd fix it up one day.

You'd interjected; "Well, I want a white house with blue shutters. And a big ol' porch that wraps around the whole thing."

The memory fades away, and you're left with emptiness as you stare at the photo of him.

And you pass out.

The next day, you're marching to Lon's office.

You tell him hurriedly that you're leaving, heading out of town for a few days. You tell him you need to do this.

And you're on your way to Seabrook.

Noah hears a car pull up outside of his workshop, and he comes outside, wiping his hands on a towel.

You step outside and look up at him. "Hello." You say to him.

The man who's heart you broke. And who broke yours.