Chosen Every Single Day
“This is your wedding gift,” she said, working to steady her voice. “There’s a significant amount of money, and a truck registered in your name.”
I smiled, awkward, and pushed the envelope back toward her. I didn’t want any of it.
“I don’t need that,” I told her. “Being with you already feels like more than enough.”
She looked at me in a way that made my chest tighten, because her eyes were full of a sadness I couldn’t place — like a woman standing at the edge of something she couldn’t take back.
“Before we go any further,” she said carefully, “I have to tell you something.”
A chill went through me as she slid the shawl off her shoulders. And when my eyes landed on her left shoulder, I froze.