His First Love Stole My Wedding,I Chose Myself and Left

Sheila stood off to the side, her eyes rimmed red. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't come back, the two of you wouldn't be fighting today."

Orson turned to look at her. "It's got nothing to do with you."

Then he spoke to the photographer. "Shoot Sheila's set first. Just edit her face out in post."

I froze where I stood. The photographer froze too. "Mr. Gilbert, that's not really appropriate, is it?"

Orson's tone stayed flat. "Double your fee."

Sheila shook her head quickly. "No, Orson, that'll only hurt Miss Harding more."

But Orson only looked at me. "Isn't a wedding photo what she wanted? As long as the final shots are usable."

So it turned out that the most anticipated day of my life was, in his eyes, only something that needed to be usable.

The sea wind pressed the hem of my skirt flat against my legs.

A sudden cold went through me, and somewhere inside, a space slowly hollowed out.

I lifted the veil off and handed it to the photographer's assistant. "No need to shoot me."

Orson's hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. "Where are you going?"

"To change."

"Silvia. Don't push it."

I looked down at his hand. When he used to hold my hand, his grip was always loose, like he was afraid of hurting me.

Now he gripped tight, and it hurt.

Sheila said softly, "Orson, let her go. Don't ruin things between you because of me."

Orson released my wrist. "That's just how her temper is. She'll come around in a while."

I carried the veil into the changing room.

The instant the door shut, the sound of wind chimes drifted in from outside.

Ting, ting, ting, like a promise made years ago, shattered by the wind.

When I came back out, changed, Sheila was already standing in front of the camera.

Orson stood beside the photographer, murmuring directions about the angle.

"This side looks better. She always liked her profile."

The photographer pressed the shutter.

In the second the flash went off, I took out my phone and canceled the automatic sending of the digital wedding invitations.

A prompt popped up on the screen. 【Confirm cancellation?】

My finger hovered over the confirm button.

Orson suddenly turned back to look at me. "Silvia, the car's over there. Don't wander off."

I didn't say anything. I just pressed it.

The next day, the wedding photo proofs were posted to the wedding-prep group chat.

The very first one was Sheila. She stood beneath the Old Harbor wind chimes, white veil lifting in the breeze, Orson's suit jacket draped over her shoulders.

If no one had said otherwise, everyone would have assumed she was the bride.

Angela Gilbert sent a voice message right away.

"This one's lovely, great atmosphere. Where's Silvia, though? How come I don't see her anywhere?"

My mother chimed in too. "Did someone post the wrong photo?"

The group went silent for a few seconds. Sheila was the first to step in and explain.

"Please don't misunderstand, everyone. I was just doing a quick lighting test, and the photographer must have uploaded the wrong file. Miss Harding, please don't be upset."

Orson followed with a single line. "It's only a proof. Don't blow it out of proportion."

I stared at that line. Of everything he'd said to me these past few years, that was the one he said most.

I said he forgot our anniversary. He said don't blow it out of proportion.

I said he never posted a single photo of us together. He said don't blow it out of proportion.

I said that ever since Sheila came back, he went to pick her up every single night. He said don't blow it out of proportion.

As though one sentence from him could turn every hurt I felt into me making a mountain out of nothing.

I left the group chat and called the planner.

"Cancel the Old Harbor wind chime installation at the ceremony."

The planner froze. "Miss Harding, that's the centerpiece. Mr. Gilbert insisted it stay."

"I said cancel it."

The other end hesitated. "But Mr. Gilbert just added a request. He wants an old piano set beside the wind chimes."

My hand slowly tightened. "An old piano?"

The planner said quietly, "He said Miss Simmons studied piano in high school, so she could play a piece to warm up the wedding."