Since the office was quiet, Ambrose suggested, "How about I take you out to choose a new ring? Something grander, to reward you for all your hard work these past days."
Hazel frowned, her refusal forming on her lips. Before she could speak, his phone buzzed, the screen illuminating a message. Ambrose glanced at it, his expression subtly shifting. He rose and headed for the door. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
"Sorry, love," he murmured, "I've been so caught up lately. I haven't given you the time you deserve. I swear, once this hectic period is over, I'll make you the happiest woman alive."
In their ten years together, Ambrose had never spoken to Hazel with such tenderness. He understood women often craved sweet words, but Hazel was the exception; too sensible, too independent, to need his coaxing. His efforts had always been reserved for Scarlett, who thrived on attention and demanded his comfort.
Now, however, guilt gnawed at him. His neglect of Hazel had prompted this sudden attempt at amends, hoping to ease his conscience.
Hazel gave no response, neither smile nor frown. Her face remained impassive, concealing all emotion.
After Ambrose left, Hazel went to the bathroom, her steps steady and deliberate. She methodically washed her face, rinsing away the trace of his touch, cleansing herself of his presence. Belated love. Hollow compensation after betrayal. She wanted none of it.
The days crawled by, until the eve of the wedding. The calendar was reduced to two pages, one hanging precariously. Today's wish read, "Have a family reunion dinner together." For over twenty years, Hazel had silently cherished this hope, knowing it was a futile dream. Her mother would never forgive her father, and she could never forgive Ambrose.
Refusing to dwell on these thoughts, Hazel applied light makeup, donned her favorite white dress, and went out. She watched a movie alone, ordered a couple's meal for one, and rode the Ferris wheel in solitary silence.
At the Ferris wheel's peak, the sun dipped low, casting the city in a golden glow. A gentle breeze kissed Hazel's face as she stretched out her arms, feeling her memories unraveling and scattering on the wind.
As night fell, Hazel bought ice cream and left the amusement park. She sat on a bench, savoring the cold sweetness while gazing at the stars. They had always been her solace. In her childhood, a younger Ambrose had held her hand as they lay on the grass, gazing at the heavens together.
But that no longer mattered. People came and went, but the stars remained constant. Wherever she went, their shimmering light would follow, unchanging and eternal.
After finishing her ice cream, Hazel started walking home. Her phone buzzed; a message from Scarlett.
“[Dad’s sweet-and-sour fish is amazing! You’ve probably never had it right?]”
Hazel opened the attached video. It showed a lively family dinner; Ambrose and Scarlett sat at the head of the table, surrounded by festive red decorations. Laughter echoed as their families chatted about the upcoming wedding.
Scarlett's provocation didn't anger Hazel; she had endured countless such jabs. Instead, she found it absurd. Wedding plans? Whose wedding were they truly planning? Hers or Scarlett's?