He Made Me the Bridesmaid, So I Left Him at the Altar

He knew exactly what Serafina had done to me. He knew how deeply she had ruined my life. And yet now, she was standing beside him, appearing at my accident scene like someone with the right to be at his side.

Had he already decided to make me her ceremonial attendant? Was that why he no longer even bothered to hide their closeness?

Luca's expression stiffened for a moment. A trace of guilt flashed across his face. His thumb dragged once along the scar at his jaw before he looked away.

"Bianca, I went to the family clinic to pick up our medical clearance and happened to run into Serafina."

He paused, then explained, "When she heard you had been in an accident, she insisted on coming to check on you."

I looked at the two of them coldly, forcing down the emotions surging in my chest. Then I asked, word by word, "Is she here to check whether I'm dead?"

Luca's face darkened instantly.

"Bianca!" His voice turned harsh. "Watch your words. Apologize to Serafina."

Apologize?

I almost laughed.

Before I could speak, Serafina's eyes filled with tears. She reached toward my hand hesitantly, her expression fragile and remorseful. Her fingers smoothed the front seam of her dress three quick times before she spoke.

"Bianca," she said softly, "I've regretted what happened for the past two years."

Her voice trembled perfectly.

"I know I ruined your dream of playing the piano. It was my fault. Can you forgive me?"

The moment those words left her mouth, my fingers curled tightly.

The old pain in my hands seemed to awaken all at once. The severed tendons. The blood. The despair of realizing I would never again touch the piano keys the way I once had. The dream I had spent half my life chasing had been destroyed by her hands.

And now she stood before me, weeping beautifully, asking for forgiveness as if a few tears could erase everything.

After she finished speaking, Luca nudged me gently.

That tiny movement was like a knife pressed against my heart.

He was signaling me to say something. He wanted me to forgive her.

I turned to look at him.

My voice was soft, but every word was cold.

"Do you think I should forgive her?"

For a brief second, guilt flickered across Luca's face.

But it disappeared too quickly.

He lowered his eyes and said, "Back then, Serafina made a mistake in a moment of impulse."

A moment of impulse.

Those four words struck me so hard that I nearly forgot how to breathe.

Was that all it was to him? My ruined hands. My destroyed future. The pain that returned every time it rained. The dream I could never touch again. All of it was just a moment of impulse?

Luca continued, "She answered for it. The sit-down was held, restitution was paid. She's been remorseful for years. Now she's apologizing to you. Why keep holding on to the past?"

Why keep holding on to the past?

So if I refused to forgive the person who nearly killed me, I was the one being petty.

I stared at him, and memories from that year rushed back like a tide.

Back then, Luca had stood beside me in the clinic. He had held my hand while my entire body trembled from pain. He had looked at Serafina with hatred in his eyes and promised me that he would never forgive her.

But now, he was asking me to let it go. He was asking me to reconcile with the woman who had destroyed me.

When he reached for my hand, as if trying to guide me toward some forced peace offering, I slapped it away.

The sound was crisp and sharp. One of his soldiers shifted at the edge of my vision. Nobody moved after that.

I looked at him, my voice trembling with bitterness.

"Luca, you weren't the one whose tendons were severed."

"You weren't the one who lost the ability to play the piano."

"You weren't the one whose dream was destroyed overnight."

My eyes burned, but I refused to cry.