As I sat down and sipped my wine, I allowed myself a little trip down memory lane. It wouldn’t help my mood, I knew, but the temptation of imagining a ‘What if…?’ was too strong.
George had been best friends with our friend Nathan in college. Nathan had introduced him to my sister and I at a play, and we’d hit it off instantly. I was the first person to whom George confessed his love for Ella. I was the first person Ella called when George proposed.
I looked at his kind brown eyes and his beautiful smile and felt a familiar punch in the gut. He only had eyes for his new bride.
We were lined up after the reception and Ella was about to throw her bouquet. I smiled as I saw my sister. I loved her so much. Of course George fell in love with her. She was amazing. She deserved all the happiness in the world. They both did.
A thorn from the bouquet of roses pricked me as I caught it. The florist hadn’t done his job well. As I looked down at the irony bleeding down my finger, I wondered if Ella had been pricked as she carried this down the aisle. Probably not.