Mary Ann’s POV
The old wedding box sat between us on the study table.
For a long time, neither Modric nor I touched anything inside.
The box smelled faintly of cedar, dust, and the perfume used during our first wedding ceremony. I had not realized scent could preserve memories so well.
One breath, and I remembered the old hall.
The cold smiles.
The council elders watching.
The heavy ceremonial robes.
Modric standing beside me like a man waiting for a sentence to end.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the box.
Modric noticed.
“We can stop.”
“No.”
“You do not have to do this today.”
“I know.”
I looked inside again.
“That is why I want to.”
Our second wedding was less than three weeks away.
I did not want to enter it pretending the first one had never happened.
But I
