I stare up at the moon—full and glowing, hovering proudly among the specks of stars. The clouds have just began to disperse, leaving the bed of trees among the valley bathed in light so that they’re barely distinguishable in the otherwise desolate forest. Standing here, on this cottage balcony, the night almost feels special. As it should, right?

It’s supposed to feel special.

But why do I feel so… empty? Why am I not excited for my own honeymoon anymore? My big day was only a couple days ago. The planning—as I should’ve expected—was bleak. Constant arguments, small or big, over pointless things. But it’s over. The pressure, the frustration, and the worry is over.

Plus, the day itself was lovely. Even as I looked in Lance’s eyes, hands on his, as the priest delivered his lines under the arch, with a flicker of self-doubt eating at me, it was still lovely. I should feel at ease. I should feel in love.

But as I glance back at Lance, his snoring echoing through the room in the plush bed, I’m not sure how I feel. And it’s starting to worry me. He’s nice, of course. Not as… funny as he used to be. Not as charming, either, I suppose. But he’s nice. Even with his temper, all of his faults, and broken promises, he’s nice.

I just wish he could handle a few drinks before crashing to bed. This is the first day of our honeymoon, after all.

Just then, a silver glitter of light catches my eye as I look back up at the sky. Was that… a shooting star? I’ve never seen one like that before.

Before I realize it, I’m clasping my hands together and closing my eyes, wishing. Praying. What do I want? What do I want?

“Please, give me what I want. What I deeply want. Deep in my heart.”

The moment fades and I drop my hands, looking back to the night sky and easing my shoulders, almost as if I’d actually done something. Almost as if that wasn’t ridiculous.

The cool air begins to eat at me and as I step into the warmth of the cabin, shutting the door, I pause at the realization. Lance’s snoring has stopped. Is he awake? Did I just do something? Is he…

No, that’s stupid.

I creep to the bed quietly before stiffening in place and growing pale, my eyes shooting wide, attempting to understand what I’m seeing. Attempting to make sense of it. The swell of the blankets is slimmer, gently raising with quiet, deep breaths, and, as my gaze trails to the face of the figure, I can’t contain a sharp gasp. Hair spread on the pillow, the unmistakable face of a gorgeous woman.

I stumble back, covering my mouth.