chapter 1

I've never been the kind of woman to tiptoe around the truth.

So when a flirty message from some random girl flashed across my boyfriend's phone—my doctor boyfriend's phone—I didn't hesitate for a second. I shoved the screen under his nose and demanded an explanation. Edward Jackson froze. For a long moment, he just stared at the message as if he could will it to disappear. Then, finally, he said in a low voice, "She was one of my critical patients. I'll be honest—I did start to have feelings for her." My chest tightened. "But, Maria," he went on quickly, his tone pleading, "we've been together since college. It hasn't been easy, I know. I swear I'll keep my distance from her from now on."

Looking into Edward's deep, apologetic eyes, I forced down the pain clawing at my chest and—like a fool—chose to forgive him. The wedding plans continued as if nothing had happened.

But on the day that was supposed to mark the beginning of our forever, everything unraveled. One of his colleagues suddenly burst through the doors of the ballroom, breathless. "Dr. Jackson—Daisy Faulkner just found out you're getting married. Her condition's crashing—she's in the ER!"

The bouquet slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a dull smack, scattering petals across the marble. Edward bolted toward the exit like a man possessed.

"Edward Jackson!" I screamed, my throat raw. "If you walk out that door today, we're done. For good!"

He hesitated for half a heartbeat, shoulders rigid. Then he left—without even turning back. He broke his promise.

Chaos swept through the wedding hall. The guests' whispers sliced at me like a thousand tiny knives. I could feel their stares, the pity and curiosity, crawling over my skin.

Both our parents rushed toward me, their faces pale with confusion.

Edward's assistant, Daniel Chambers, stood awkwardly at the side, his face flushed. "Maria… Daisy's case is different. The last time she almost died, Dr. Jackson saved her. She only trusts him. He's the only one who can stabilize her. It's life or death—he had no choice. Please… don't blame him."

Daniel had worked with Edward for years. He'd always treated me like family. But now, he couldn't even meet my eyes.

How much had he helped Edward cover up? How long had this other woman been in the picture? Pain spread through my chest like shattered glass, sharp and endless.

My parents gripped my hands tightly, their voices trembling. "What's going on, honey? Didn't he take time off for the wedding? What kind of patient needs saving right this second?"

Edward's parents kept calling him, muttering anxiously, "Maria, don't worry. I'll get that fool on the phone. If he doesn't come back right now, I'll drag him here myself!"

The bouquet lay crushed beneath hurried footsteps, petals ground into the carpet—just like my heart.

I stood there, my wedding dress pooling around me like a wilted flower after a storm.

I'd imagined this day so many times: the laughter, the music, the look in Edward's eyes when he'd see me walking down the aisle. But never—not in my darkest nightmares—did I imagine the groom would abandon me in a hall overflowing with blessings that no longer belonged to me and run off to another woman halfway through our vows.

Four hours passed. Seventy-six calls. Not one answered.

I stared at the phone screen until it went black, then bright again, then finally died in my hands.

Sunlight streamed through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling over the wreck of the ballroom—empty chairs, deflated balloons, half-eaten cake. The light caught on my bare ring finger. It felt like ice.

One by one, the guests slipped out, leaving behind only silence and the faint echo of ruined celebration.

The room tilted. My vision blurred. The last thing I heard was my mother's frantic sob before everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes again, the antiseptic sting of disinfectant filled my nose.

A nurse was adjusting the blood pressure cuff on my arm. She smiled softly when she saw me awake. "Miss Lowe, your body's weak right now," she said gently. "You can't take any more shocks. Try to rest."

I stared up at the ceiling, tears sliding soundlessly down my cheeks.

From the day I was nineteen—when Edward handed me his notebook in the college library—to the handwritten letters he sent every week during his medical training, and then to the day he became an attending physician, when he took my hand, promised, "I'll save lives, and I'll always protect you."

Six years. Six years of love, trust, and foolish dreams. They replayed in my mind like scenes from a film I couldn't pause.

I thought of my parents' beaming faces, of his family's joy, of the way everyone believed we were meant to be. My throat tightened.

How was I supposed to tell them that the six-year love story they all envied should come to an end?

The third time Daisy's condition turned "critical," I was in the kitchen sorting my pills into their little compartments.

The smell of disinfectant still clung to my hands, sharp and sterile, like the memory of that hospital room I couldn't escape.