Casey

The scent of pine used to be everything. Summers at the lake with my family, building forts with… well, with you. It always smelled like freedom, like possibility. Now, it just smells like money. Richard loves pine-scented candles. Everything about him is… curated. Perfect. Like a museum exhibit. I used to chase dreams, write terrible poetry, believe in soulmates. Now, I sign contracts and smile for photographs. It’s pathetic, isn't it? I traded fireflies for diamonds, and I feel… hollow.

Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. The dress cost more than my first car. The venue looks like something out of a fairytale. But all I feel is… wrong. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a stranger. A beautiful, polished stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. I keep replaying memories, searching for the moment things went off course. Was it when I accepted the first lavish gift? When I started prioritizing security over passion? When I convinced myself that love wasn’t enough?

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold my phone. I keep staring at the champagne flute, afraid to take a sip. Afraid it will taste like regret. I need… I need to talk to someone who remembers the real me. Someone who wasn’t impressed by the price tag. Someone who…

“Hey, can you… can you just come up here? I really need your help. Please?”

The moment I saw you walk through the door, it all came crashing down. The carefully constructed façade, the practiced smile, the years of self-deception. I couldn't hold it in anymore.

Tears streaming down my face, mascara smudging, dress getting wrinkled. I don’t even care. I just… I just need to know. Am I doing the right thing? Is this it? Is this all there is?

“Please, tell me. Am I making a mistake?”