FORTY-NINE.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and I don’t like what I see.

I can’t believe I allowed my mother to drag me to the bridal boutique, three hours out of the city.

Everything is starting to feel a little too real, and on the inside, I am silently dying from a panic attack.

Tonight is the night that I am to meet my future groom. My mother keeps telling me how handsome Wicked is and how much he resembles Ace. Even if my mother is speaking the truth, Wicked isn’t Ace.

And my soul will continuously mourn for him every day that we are apart.

I have thought about running away many times when the opportunity has shown itself, but every time I look into my mother’s kind eyes, I just can’t.

If I willingly run away, I know it will break her. I have heard the house staff chattering in the kitchen about my mother being bedridden for many years because she used pain medication to pass the time.

Today marks eight years of sobriety for her, and I don’t want to be the reason for her relapsing. I’v