“Did you hear?” he said. “Antonio’s getting married.”
Before I could process the news, he added, “She’s marrying a construction worker. No money. Honestly, she still can’t choose well.”
In my mind, I saw him already: a man in a wrinkled, budget suit, worn hands, a cheap tie. I decided right then that I would attend the wedding — not to congratulate her, but to show her what she had lost.
I pictured myself as the embodiment of success — the tailored dress, the luxury car, the confident entrance. I wanted her to regret letting me go.
The Grand Entrance That Fell Flat
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