“They all look fine,” Damien had said flatly, after watching me try on three gowns. “Just pick one. You can’t really see the details anyway.”

He hurried to pay, the receipt showing only two hundred dollars.

So he was capable of careful planning, of spending seventy thousand on a dress flown in from Milan. But never for me.

On the way home, I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, yet the tears still wouldn’t stop.

Five years.

For five whole years, I had believed he understood me.

When I told him I wanted to marry in the snowy mountains, he smiled, ruffled my hair, and said, “Okay.” That simple moment had moved me so deeply. I thought he remembered—that he cherished the place we first met, the day I fell and bloodied myself for him, the way I held his hand in the blizzard and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”

But it turned out he hadn’t remembered at all. Or worse—he never cared.

The doctor had warned me that strong emotions could hinder my optic nerve recovery. So I tilted my head back, swallowing the sobs until my throat burned raw.

That night Damien called. Behind his voice was loud music and laughter. “Serena, Daniel and the guys are throwing me a bachelor’s party. I’m not coming back tonight.”

I hesitated two seconds, then said softly, “Okay.”

It was the third night in a row.

At one in the morning, unable to sleep, I scrolled through my social media. Daniel had posted a nine-photo collage captioned Brother’s Last Night of Freedom. In the center photo, Calla leaned drunkenly against Damien, her flushed cheek pressed to his shoulder, her hand resting lightly at his waist.

The comments came fast: What a talented couple. Such a pity. They were childhood sweethearts. Don’t stir trouble. @Damien, better be careful or Serena will find out.

Damien himself replied: Serena won’t mind. If she makes a fuss over something this small, then maybe marriage isn’t worth it.

I clicked a silent thumbs-up, switched off my phone, and closed my eyes.

He was certain I would endure it, just as I had endured the venue change, the half-million-dollar dress, the endless “we’re just friends.”

But this time, I no longer wanted to endure.

The next morning, I went alone to the hospital for my follow-up. The doctor frowned. “Last time, we said your vision is fluctuating a lot. You really should be accompanied.”

I smiled faintly. “I can manage on my own.”

When I stepped outside, the skies broke into heavy rain. Crossing the street, I spotted them through a café window—Damien, phone lifted for a selfie, and Calla leaning into him, flashing a victory sign. On her arm was the newest handbag, the very one he’d told me last week was “for a client.”

I gave a quiet laugh to myself and walked into the storm.

By the time Damien came home, I was toweling off, changing out of my drenched clothes. He froze when he saw me. “Why are you soaked?”

“Follow-up appointment,” I said lightly.

His expression stiffened. “That was today?”

I let out a small laugh. “Yes. It’s the third time I reminded you.”

Damien dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’ve been busy. Anyway, your eyesight is already better. Missing one check-up won’t kill you.”

I looked at him steadily. “The doctor said my optic nerve is still deteriorating.”

He faltered, went quiet, then lifted his gaze again with a flash of irritation. “Are you trying to remind me that you went blind because of me?”

So, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. In his eyes, it was just me keeping score.

I stayed silent. That silence seemed to anger him more. “And now you’re staring at me like that again! I only forgot once. Why do you always blow up over such small things?”

I glanced at Damien’s collar and murmured, “Blueberry jam. From the café.”

He instinctively brushed at the stain, then froze. “You…”

“Calla’s bag is pretty,” I added, my voice calm.

Color rose in his cheeks, not from embarrassment but from anger. “You were following me? Seriously? She only came to me because she was upset. You know her family situation—she has no one else but me.” His voice sharpened. “Serena, can’t you be more generous? Why make a scene over something so pointless?”

A laugh slipped out of me, sharp and humorless. “What a coincidence then… I only happened to be there because of my follow-up appointment.”

Damien faltered, stammering, as though my words had struck a nerve. “She’s different. You—you have someone who cares about you.”

Before I could reply, his phone buzzed. Calla’s name lit the screen. He answered instantly.

“Damien,” she whimpered between choked sobs, “I fell. It hurts…”

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and strode toward the door. Halfway out, he hesitated, looking back at me. “Reflect on yourself first. I’ll take you to the souvenir shop tomorrow. And stop following me—you look like a clown.”

The door shut behind him, but the word echoed in my mind. Clown.

He was right. I only realized it now. I had been blind for far too long.

The next day, the drive to the shop was thick with silence. I slipped in my headphones, pretending to sleep. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, restless.

“The weather’s perfect for the beach lately,” he said, glancing at me. When I didn’t respond, he raised his voice. “I heard the Golden Coast Hotel’s really popular right now. A lot of celebrities are holding their weddings there.”

I hummed faintly without opening my eyes.

“Serena, are you even listening to me?” he snapped, irritation creeping in.

I cracked my eyes open. “Yes. So what?”

He faltered, forcing a laugh. “…Nothing. Just talking.”

A breeze blew in through the window, carrying the chill of the mountains. I turned to him, my tone quiet but firm. “Damien, is there anything you want to tell me about the wedding?”

It was the only time I asked—and it would be the last.

He avoided my gaze, offering a weak smile. “Leave it all to you. I trust you.”

I lowered my eyes. He was still acting. Still pretending. Even now, if he’d confessed, maybe… maybe I could have— No. Not anymore. Trust had already been wasted.

Inside the shop, I examined the custom molds for the pastries I had ordered. The snow-capped mountain design was exquisite, delicate enough to bring tears to my eyes. Just as I reached to taste one, a familiar laugh rang behind me.

“Damien? You came to buy me cream puffs?”

My chest tightened. Her. Again.

Calla spotted me and covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh—Serena? I didn’t see you there.” She glanced at the counter, all sweetness. “Are you picking souvenirs too? This place has the best cream puffs. Damien brings me here all the time.”

My fingers curled against my palm. So that was it. The place I’d heard about from a friend, the shop I’d thought I’d discovered—he had already shared it with her, over and over.

Calla picked up a new dress, her voice light and coaxing. “Amara, would you like to try this? It’s perfect for the beach, and goes beautifully with champagne.”

I stepped back, shaking my head. “No. I’ve already chosen. Take your time.”

She faltered, her expression turning soft with wounded innocence. “Are you upset because I’m upset? Then… I’ll just leave first.”

Before she could turn, Victor caught her wrist. “Amara, that’s not what I meant. She doesn’t need to go.” His gaze fixed sharply on me. “Calla will be your bridesmaid. Don’t be so aggressive—you’ll only scare her.”

I froze. Bridesmaid? Since when was that decided? Shouldn’t I be the one to choose? But then, he had already changed the wedding venue without asking. Why would this be any different?

Expressionless, I said, “That’s just how I am. Whether you like it or not is your choice.”

Both of them stared at me, startled by my seriousness. Calla’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Forget it. I’ll leave. Better if I disappear from your sight.”

But Victor Hale only tightened his grip, interlocking his fingers with hers. “Amara, you’re about to be married. Why are you still acting so childish? Ever since the date was set, you’ve been sulking nonstop—do you find that fun?”

“Victor, don’t be like that…” Calla murmured, leaning closer as if to soothe him.

He pulled away, his voice rising. “Don’t try to persuade me. I’ve had enough! Amara, throw your tantrums if you want—but don’t say I didn’t try. You’ve cried yourself blind with jealousy!”

The store fell silent. Even the clerk bowed his head awkwardly.

Cold seeped into my chest. So in his eyes, my blindness was nothing more than jealousy.

I had hoped he’d remember the meaning of our snowy mountain wedding. But every time Calla claimed “low blood sugar” or “headache,” he abandoned me to rush to her side. When I burned with a 39-degree fever, he told me, Drink hot water, I’ll come later, and never showed up—because he was out shopping with her.

When I dared to complain, he scolded me. Why are you so naïve? Calla really needs me.

On our anniversary, he promised to watch the sunrise with me. I prepared a gift. He forgot. It’s just a date. Why make such a fuss?

But for Calla’s birthday, he reserved a restaurant a month in advance, bought a gift, and posted online: Happy birthday to the person who matters most to me.

Looking back, I realized I should have left long ago.