The next evening, as Spokane settled into its ordinary rhythms, Katrina stepped into the unknown. She had crossed the first threshold, and though she didn’t know it yet, there would be no turning back.
The week before the wedding arrived like a storm everyone had prayed for. Spokane buzzed with anticipation—relatives flying in, neighbors offering casseroles and advice, the church choir rehearsing late into the evening. It seemed as if the entire city had a stake in the vows Eddie and Katrina were about to make.
For Eddie, it was everything he had ever wanted. His days were long, split between final touches at work and last-minute errands for the ceremony. His nights were filled with calls to family, fittings for his tux, and endless reassurances to his mother that yes, the arbor was sturdy enough, and no, he wasn’t nervous. Beneath it all, he carried a quiet joy, the kind that made him hum under his breath while sanding wood or laugh at small things that once wouldn’t have drawn his attention.
In a week, Katrina would walk down the aisle, and the promise they had been circling since childhood would finally become flesh. But Katrina felt something different. The weight of expectation pressed against her chest like a stone. Each question—about flowers, seating charts, or centerpieces—felt like a thread tightening around her. Her phone buzzed constantly with reminders, but it was another message she checked most often, the one that came from a name she never spoke aloud.
She had gone to Lemayan’s gathering that Friday. Just once, she had told herself. But once became twice. Then a third. Each time, she promised herself she would stop, and each time she found herself pulled deeper into the orbit of a world that felt alive in ways her own did not. Firelight, laughter, stories of lands where the stars looked close enough to touch—these became her refuge.
At home, Eddie noticed her silences but mistook them for stress. One evening, as they sat at the bend of the river, he reached for her hand. “One more week,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with certainty. She forced a smile. “One more week.” But the words tasted strange in her mouth, as though they belonged to someone else.
On Tuesday, her mother dragged her to a final dress fitting. The satin shimmered under the shop’s lights, the veil trailing like spun sugar. The attendants gasped, her mother wept softly, and even the seamstress murmured, “Perfect.” Katrina turned toward the mirror and saw a bride staring back—a woman draped in expectation, adored by her community, loved by a man who had never failed her. And yet, behind her reflection, she thought she saw a flash of red, the color of Lemayan’s Shuka, as if the fabric of another life had bled into the image. She blinked, and it was gone. “Are you happy?” her mother asked, dabbing her eyes. “Yes,” Katrina answered automatically. The lie slid out too easily.
By midweek, Eddie began to notice the small fractures. She missed dinner twice, claiming late meetings. She was distracted during conversations, her phone always within reach. When he teased her about being a “bridezilla,” she didn’t laugh like she used to—she only looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line.
That night, lying awake beside her, Eddie studied the ceiling and tried to shake off the unease. He trusted her; of course he did. But trust did not silence the knot tightening in his stomach. Something was shifting, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t even name it.
He turned toward her, watching the rise and fall of her breath. She looked peaceful, but in sleep her hand curled tightly around the beads she now kept hidden in the drawer beside the bed.
On Friday, one week before the wedding, the first real fracture appeared. Eddie arrived at the office with coffee in hand, intending to surprise her. But when he reached her desk, she wasn’t there. He searched the building, finally spotting her through the glass wall of a small meeting room. She was sitting across from Lemayan, her head tilted in rapt attention as he spoke. The angle of her body, the softness of her smile—Eddie knew them. They belonged to intimacy. The coffee went cold in his hand.
The week before the wedding arrived like a storm everyone had prayed for. Spokane buzzed with anticipation—relatives flying in, neighbors offering casseroles and advice, the church choir rehearsing late into the evening. It seemed as if the entire city had a stake in the vows Eddie and Katrina were about to make.
For Eddie, it was everything he had ever wanted. His days were long, split between final touches at work and last-minute errands for the ceremony. His nights were filled with calls to family, fittings for his tux, and endless reassurances to his mother that yes, the arbor was sturdy enough, and no, he wasn’t nervous. Beneath it all, he carried a quiet joy, the kind that made him hum under his breath while sanding wood or laugh at small things that once wouldn’t have drawn his attention.
In a week, Katrina would walk down the aisle, and the promise they had been circling since childhood would finally become flesh. But Katrina felt something different. The weight of expectation pressed against her chest like a stone. Each question—about flowers, seating charts, or centerpieces—felt like a thread tightening around her. Her phone buzzed constantly with reminders, but it was another message she checked most often, the one that came from a name she never spoke aloud.
She had gone to Lemayan’s gathering that Friday. Just once, she had told herself. But once became twice. Then a third. Each time, she promised herself she would stop, and each time she found herself pulled deeper into the orbit of a world that felt alive in ways her own did not. Firelight, laughter, stories of lands where the stars looked close enough to touch—these became her refuge.
At home, Eddie noticed her silences but mistook them for stress. One evening, as they sat at the bend of the river, he reached for her hand. “One more week,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with certainty. She forced a smile. “One more week.” But the words tasted strange in her mouth, as though they belonged to someone else.
On Tuesday, her mother dragged her to a final dress fitting. The satin shimmered under the shop’s lights, the veil trailing like spun sugar. The attendants gasped, her mother wept softly, and even the seamstress murmured, “Perfect.” Katrina turned toward the mirror and saw a bride staring back—a woman draped in expectation, adored by her community, loved by a man who had never failed her. And yet, behind her reflection, she thought she saw a flash of red, the color of Lemayan’s Shuka, as if the fabric of another life had bled into the image. She blinked, and it was gone. “Are you happy?” her mother asked, dabbing her eyes. “Yes,” Katrina answered automatically. The lie slid out too easily.
By midweek, Eddie began to notice the small fractures. She missed dinner twice, claiming late meetings. She was distracted during conversations, her phone always within reach. When he teased her about being a “bridezilla,” she didn’t laugh like she used to—she only looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line.
That night, lying awake beside her, Eddie studied the ceiling and tried to shake off the unease. He trusted her; of course he did. But trust did not silence the knot tightening in his stomach. Something was shifting, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t even name it.
He turned toward her, watching the rise and fall of her breath. She looked peaceful, but in sleep her hand curled tightly around the beads she now kept hidden in the drawer beside the bed.
On Friday, one week before the wedding, the first real fracture appeared. Eddie arrived at the office with coffee in hand, intending to surprise her. But when he reached her desk, she wasn’t there. He searched the building, finally spotting her through the glass wall of a small meeting room. She was sitting across from Lemayan, her head tilted in rapt attention as he spoke. The angle of her body, the softness of her smile—Eddie knew them. They belonged to intimacy. The coffee went cold in his hand.
