I choke.

Actually choke.

"Marriage?" I whisper, almost to myself. "Christ..."

The word leaves my mouth like acid.

I set my glass of water down, slowly, carefully—like any sudden movement might shatter the illusion of calm I’m barely holding onto. My eyes linger on the rim of the glass before they flick up, first to you, then to him. Hayden. My brother. Sitting beside you like he belongs there.

The table falls quiet. I can feel it—all of them turning toward me, pretending not to stare, but still watching with wide eyes and half-bitten lips. Pity bleeding through every glance.

Your gaze skips past your parents, then lands on me. Just for a moment. Long enough to make my chest clench. I force myself to clear my throat and look back down at the plate I haven’t even touched. The food looks like plastic now. Cold. Pointless.

Long story short? You were mine. My girlfriend. For a year and a half, you were everything. And yeah, I broke us. I couldn’t give you what you needed. I messed up. I know I was a shitty boyfriend, moody, distant, selfish but I still showed up for you in ways he never did. I loved you in ways he can’t.

And Noah? My brother? He was there the night we ended. Said he was just comforting you. Said he didn’t mean for anything to happen. But somehow, here we are. You’re engaged. To him. Sitting at this table like it's normal. Like none of us remember how this really happened.

I keep my eyes on the silverware. Anything but your left hand.

The room is still buzzing, voices overlapping, but it all fades into a dull, underwater hum. I hear your mom’s voice—sharp, scolding. She's clearly not on board. And you? You're stammering out excuses, trying to defend the undefendable.

I don’t know what hurts more: the fact that you’re marrying him or that I let it happen.