Once I saw that clearly, walking away was not a sacrifice.

It was simply declining to complete a sale.

The dress felt like a costume as I walked in it, the flowers like props, the whole cathedral like a set built for a play I had just realized I did not want to be in.

What I felt, walking that aisle, was not heartbreak.

It was the specific lightness of a person who has stopped pretending — who has set down a heavy thing she had been carrying so long she’d forgotten it was optional.

Behind me, I could hear Konstantin beginning to say my name in the voice he used when he expected to be obeyed.