When I received the invitation to her wedding, I laughed at first. She was getting married? The one who told me she didn't believe in marriage, that all ceremonies were pointless? I couldn't resist the urge to go. Not because I wanted to congratulate her, but to see if she would actually be happy—or if her smile would break when she saw me. I was convinced that I was the one who had lost less. You know that feeling when you want to prove yourself right? Well, with that feeling in mind, I put on my best suit that evening and set off.
As I approached the hall, the music was already playing. The scent of flowers and wine filled the air. People were laughing, toasting, pictures were rolling like in a movie. I hadn't been invited personally by her—the invitation had come through mutual friends—but I knew she would notice me. I was sure that the presence of me, my ex, would ruin her perfect day.
Ironic, right? A man comes to mock, and already at the entrance he feels that something is wrong in his own chest.
The first meeting in two years
When I saw her, my heart skipped a beat, against all logic. She stood in a white dress, smiling slightly, holding the hand of her husband — yes, my husband. She looked serene, not in that cheerfully fake way, but sincerely, calmly. Her gaze no longer had the restlessness I knew, nor the tears that accompanied our quarrels. It was the gaze of a woman who seemed to have finally found her place in the world.
As I passed her, our gazes met for a moment. There was no hatred. There was no indifference either. Just… quiet understanding. It was as if all the years, all the promises and disappointments had fit into that brief glance. And as she nodded and smiled gently, I felt for the first time that I was losing ground.
