Chapter Text
Her shoes are tight…too tight. Pinching her toes in an uncomfortable fashion. And the bouquet of lilies in her hands feel heavy. Her thoughts race at the images swimming around in her head as she looks at Angela in front of her.
Angela looks perfect, standing there, black tailored suit, with no shirt underneath, deep V cutting down the middle of her chest. It makes Amanda swallow thickly at the image of her, but she pushes the thoughts down, away, now is not the time for that.
Her heart races as she glances out into the sea of crowd around them, surrounded by family and friends, here to support. It makes her smile at the thought of everyone showing up. Angela deserved that. Angela deserved the world, and Amanda would learn to harness it for her if she asked.
Weddings are tricky, she thinks to herself. They are meant to be a union of two people, two families, to bring people together.
And this one was doing exactly that, bringing people together. She wanted that for them. She wanted that for Angela. Because she wanted Angela happy. That was all that mattered.
Amanda reminds herself that this is what she agreed to. That this is the role she said yes to without hesitation, without pause. Stand here. Smile. Hold the flowers. Be steady. Be strong. She’s always been good at that — being the steady one when Angela needed it, even if it came at the cost of her own balance.
She thinks about how easily she said yes when she was asked. How she didn’t even think of what dress she’d be wearing, or where she’d be standing, or what the expectations were. None of that mattered. Only Angela.
She’d told herself it was an honor. A privilege. That it meant something, to be standing here now, so close she could see the faint freckle near Angela’s collarbone, the one she used to trace absentmindedly during late-night conversations when the world felt too loud.
Amanda swallows, throat tight. I can do this, she thinks. I’ve done worse.
Amanda shifts her weight, careful not to let it show. Her calves ache, tension pulling tight through her legs, her shoulders, her jaw. She loosens her grip on the bouquet for half a second before tightening it again, knuckles whitening around the stems. She can’t drop them. That would be noticeable. That would be a thing.
She can’t be a thing today.
Her gaze drifts back to Angela without permission, like it always does. It’s instinct now, muscle memory carved deep over years of late nights and shared couches and laughter that felt too intimate to name. She knows Angela’s eyes are bright, focused forward, lips parted just slightly like she’s holding her breath.
Amanda knows that look.
She’s seen it before — before big shows, before hard conversations, before moments where everything feels like it might finally click into place. It twists something sharp and familiar in her chest.
She’s happy, Amanda tells herself. This is what happiness looks like.
The officiant clears their throat, voice warm and practiced as it carries across the space. Amanda forces herself to look forward, to listen, even as the words slide over her like water she can’t quite catch.
They talk about love. About partnership. About choosing each other every day.
Amanda swallows.
She’s done that. Chosen Angela. Over and over and over again, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. She’d chosen her in quiet ways — showing up, staying late, being the one she called when the world tilted too far to one side.
This is fine, she thinks. I can do this.
The officiant talks about history. About shared roots. About building something that lasts.
Amanda almost laughs at that, a hysterical little bubble rising in her throat. She’s been there for all of it — the growing pains, the figuring-it-out, the nights that blurred into mornings because neither of them wanted to be the first to leave.
She shifts again, bouquet rustling softly. The sound feels too loud in her ears.
Her heart starts to pound quicker.
She becomes aware, suddenly, of the way the room feels smaller than it should. The way the air is thick, pressing in around her ribs. Her breath comes shallow, measured, like she’s bracing for an impact she doesn’t know that’s about to hit.
The officiant smiles.
They ask the crowd to bear witness.
Amanda does. God, she does.
She bears witness to the way Angela’s hands tremble just slightly. To the way her shoulders square like she’s stepping into something permanent. To the way this moment feels so final it makes Amanda dizzy.
The words keep coming. Promises. Forever. Commitment.
Amanda’s vision blurs.
I can’t, she thinks suddenly, urgently. I can’t—
“And if anyone here,” the officiant says, voice calm, oblivious, “has any reason why these two should not be joined—”
The officiant’s voice continues, steady and warm, talking about love as a choice. About commitment not as something grand and sweeping, but as something quiet and intentional. Something you wake up and choose, day after day.
Amanda nods faintly, like she agrees.
She thinks about all the days she’s chosen Angela without being asked to. The mornings she’s woken up already bracing herself for a text, the nights she’s stayed longer than she should have because leaving felt worse than staying. She’s chosen her in all the ways that didn’t count, all the ways that didn’t earn her anything but this ache.
The officiant talks about partnership — about standing side by side, facing the world together.
Amanda’s fingers curl tighter around the bouquet.
She’d been doing that, too. Standing beside Angela. Facing everything together. Just… without the label. Without the permission. Without the future.
Her chest tightens as a laugh bubbles dangerously close to the surface. It’s absurd, really. To stand here and listen to words that could have been hers, spoken aloud like a promise instead of buried like a secret.
The room feels unbearably still.
Amanda exhales slowly through her nose, trying to calm the pounding in her ears. She tells herself she’s proud. That she’s grateful. That this is what loving someone looks like — wanting their happiness even when it costs you everything.
She almost believes it.
Amanda’s heart slams against her ribs.
Her mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
She feels it then — the truth, hot and unavoidable, burning its way up her spine. It fills her chest, her throat, her hands. Her grip on the bouquet loosens, flowers dipping toward the floor as her vision tunnels.
Her vision narrows. Blurs. Hazes as she teeters off an edge of something she can’t name.
It’s subtle at first — a soft blur around the edges, like the world is quietly pulling away from her. The sound of the officiant’s voice fades, replaced by the dull thud of her heartbeat, loud and insistent in her ears.
Amanda becomes acutely aware of herself in her body. Of how tight her chest feels. Of how shallow her breaths have become. Of the way her hands are trembling despite her best efforts to keep them still.
Not now, she thinks desperately. Just get through this.
She glances at Angela again, and that’s the mistake.
Because she knows Angela is smiling in front of her — small, nervous, real — and for one terrible second, Amanda sees it. The life that could have been. The mornings and the fights and the laughter and the choosing. All of it flashes through her like a lightning strike.
Her throat closes.
She can’t do this.
She can’t stand here and watch the woman she loves make promises like this. Promises of forever, when she knows her heart isn’t in the right place.
The officiant inhales, preparing to speak again.
Amanda’s body reacts before her mind can catch up.
“I—” Her voice cracks, loud in the sudden silence.
Angela turns. Their eyes meet.
Amanda shakes her head, breath stuttering. “I— I can’t—”
Gasps ripple through the room.
“You can’t do this.” she whispers, barely audible. She knows the crowd can’t hear her, but the officiant does, and so does Chanse, and most of all, so does Angela.
The words land heavy, unreal.
Amanda doesn’t wait to hear the reaction. She doesn’t wait to see Angela’s face change, doesn’t wait for anyone to stop her. She turns and runs, heels slipping slightly against the floor as she bolts down the aisle, heart pounding, lungs burning.
She doesn’t look back.