After returning from Boston, Dylan spiraled into a depression, locking himself in his apartment and drinking constantly. When Jemma pushed open his door, the wave of alcohol fumes made her recoil. Taking a moment to compose herself, she pinched her nose and entered. Dylan sat slumped against the couch on the floor. His eyes briefly lit up when he recognized his sister.
“Though with the binge drinking, Dylan,” Jemma said, snatching a bottle from his hand. He simply reached for another and took a long swig. “What do you want?” he muttered. Jemma kicked his leg, not gently. “Making sure you don’t drink yourself to death.” Despite her harsh tone, she was genuinely worried. She’d prepared hangover soup and brought it over in a thermos. Dylan stared at the bowl she offered but made no move to take it.
“It’s Harper’s recipe,” Jemma said quietly. At the mention of Harper’s name, something flickered in his bloodshot eyes. He finally took the bowl and sipped it. The familiar taste broke something inside him. Tears streamed down his face as he drained the entire bowl. “Can you talk to her for me?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Tell her I understand how badly I screwed up. I’ll do anything.” Jemma had promised Harper she wouldn’t interfere, but seeing her brother so utterly broken made it hard to refuse. She sighed heavily. “I’ll see where her head’s at.”
When Jemma got home, she was about to call Harper when her phone rang—Harper was calling her. “Hey Harper, what’s up?” “Liv, I’m getting married! Would you be my maid of honor?” Years ago, during their college days, Harper had made Jemma promise to be her maid of honor when she married Dylan. Now, though the groom had changed, Jemma remembered that promise. The announcement left her speechless. “You still there?” Jemma finally found her voice. “Of course I’ll be your maid of honor! Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She swallowed the words she’d planned to say on Dylan’s behalf. Despite her efforts to sound normal, Harper picked up on something in her tone. “Everything okay? You sound weird.” Jemma hesitated. “No, it’s nothing. Where’s the wedding?” Jemma realized Harper had truly found someone who valued her. After all the pain her brother had caused, Harper deserved this happiness. Dylan would have to learn from his mistakes.
When Jemma returned to Dylan’s apartment, he immediately asked, “What did she say?” “She’s getting married, Dylan.” Jemma watched as her brother seemed to physically deflate, as if someone had punctured him. “Life goes on,” Jemma said gently. “Maybe it’s time you did too.” Dylan said nothing, just stared into space.
The day before Jemma left for Boston, Dylan brought her a small box. “A handcrafted comb I made. Give it to her as a wedding gift.” Jemma promised she would, even if Harper knew it was from him. “Don’t tell her it’s from me,” he added quietly. “She won’t accept it.”
Before the ceremony, Jemma presented the box to Harper. “A wedding gift. Wishing you all the happiness in the world.” Harper opened it to find the exquisite wooden comb. She stared at it for a long moment before handing it back. “Dylan asked you to give this to me, didn’t he?” Jemma was surprised. “How did you know?” Years ago, when handmade gifts were all the rage among college couples, Harper had made Dylan a sachet, desperately hoping he’d reciprocate with a traditional comb—the symbol of lasting commitment. She never expected him to actually craft one himself, especially now. “I’m married now,” Harper said quietly. “It wouldn’t be right to keep it. Please return it to him.” Jemma sighed and put the comb away.
With Jemma’s help, Harper finished dressing in her wedding gown. Her father walked her down the aisle to where Tyler waited, his eyes brimming with love. “Take care of my little girl,” Mr. Coulson said, placing Harper’s hand in Tyler’s. “With everything I have,” Tyler promised, his voice thick with emotion. The ceremony proceeded flawlessly. “The rings, please,” the officiant called. As Tyler kissed Harper, he caught sight of a figure standing in the shadows at the back of the venue. Their eyes met, and Tyler subtly tightened his grip on Harper’s hand, a small gesture of victory directed at Dylan. Dylan’s mouth filled with bitterness as he slipped out of the hall. Some mistakes came with permanent consequences. He would never be the man at Harper’s side.
“Tyler, were you looking at someone just now?” Harper asked. “Nobody important,” he assured her. Harper pushed the thought aside, focusing on the man before her. Their fingers intertwined, and surrounded by family and friends, she kissed her true happiness.