The Santa Valmont Church had never felt so stifling.
Maybe it was the August heat, thick and sticky, making my white rehearsal dress stick to my back. Or maybe it was the way Rafael barely looked at me, his eyes sliding down to his phone every three minutes, his jaw clenched in a tension he pretended wasn't there.
Six years. Six damn years together, and he couldn't even give me his full attention during our own wedding rehearsal.
"Elena, dear, you're going in on the right, remember?" Claudia's voice, my maid of honor, brought me back. She was smiling, but there was concern in her eyes. She'd noticed it too.
"Yes, of course." I forced a smile, adjusting the fake bouquet of white flowers in my sweaty hands. Father Miguel watched me with that fatherly expression that master priests possess, as if he could see through all my polite lies and forced smiles straight to the chaos seething within me.
"Let's do it again," he announced, patient as ever. "Rafael, you stand here at the altar. Elena, please stand at the entrance."
I walked back down the aisle, heels clicking against the cool marble. The church was beautiful—decorated with white and gold roses, exactly as I'd dreamed since childhood. Tomorrow would be even more perfect. Tomorrow would be the most important day of my life.
So why was every fiber of my being screaming that something was terribly wrong?
At the entrance, I took a deep breath. The wedding march began to play—a piano version, not the full orchestra we'd have tomorrow—and I took the first step.
Rafael stood at the altar, but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed somewhere above my head, his body rigid, his hands stuffed in his pockets in a way that was anything but romantic.
Where was the man who had proposed to me a year ago, on his knees in the rain, telling me I was the love of his life? Where was the Rafael who woke up early to make me coffee, who laughed at my bad jokes, who hugged me in the middle of the night when I had nightmares?
Because this man at the altar was a stranger.
I reached the end of the aisle, standing beside him. The priest began to speak about wedding vows, about commitment, about until death do us part.
Rafael didn't take my hand.
It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible. But I felt it like a slap.
"...and now the bride and groom will exchange rings," Father Miguel continued, oblivious to the tension that threatened to suffocate me.
Rafael finally turned to me. Our eyes met, and what I saw there froze me.
Guilt. Pure, devastating guilt.
"Rafael?" I whispered, too low for anyone but him to hear. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." But his voice was rough, strained. "I'm just tired."
Lie. I'd known this man for six years. I knew every gesture and every expression. And he was lying.
"Okay, great!" The priest clapped his hands happily. "I think we're ready for tomorrow. Elena, Rafael, you were perfect!"
We weren't. That was anything but perfect.
The few people present—Cláudia, my father and his wife Monica, my stepsister Sofia (who insisted on coming even though she was sick), and a few close friends—began to disperse, making excited comments about the big day tomorrow.
I barely listened. My eyes were fixed on Rafael, who was already moving away, walking quickly toward the side exit.
"Rafa, wait!" I ran after him, damn heels making it difficult to pursue. "For the hell of it!"
He stopped in the side garden, his back to me, shoulders tense.
"Elena, not now."
"Not now?" My voice rose, and I didn't care who could hear. "Rafael, our wedding is tomorrow! If something's wrong, I need to know now!"
Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence, full of unspoken words and truths he didn't want to say.
Finally, he turned around.
And what I saw on his face destroyed me.
It wasn't just guilt. It was decision. A decision already made.
"We need to talk." His voice was dead, empty. "But not here."
"Then where? When?" Panic started to rise in my throat like bile. "Rafael, you're scaring me."
"Let's go home." He finally looked at me, really looked, and there was something in his eyes that made me want to run. "We need to talk about... about tomorrow."
About tomorrow. About our wedding. About..."
"Oh God." The realization hit me like a punch in the gut. "You're going to cancel. You're going to cancel our wedding."
"Elena..."
"YOU'RE GOING TO CANCEL!" I screamed, and damn tears began to burn my eyes. "A day early! A day, Rafael! After six years!"
"It's not that simple!" He took a step toward me, hands outstretched as if I were some frightened animal. "Let me explain..."
"Explain now, then!" My voice broke, and I hated the weakness in it. "Tell me! What happened? What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything." And for the first time, he sounded genuinely tortured. "Elena, you're perfect. You always have been. That's why this is so... so impossible."
"What's impossible? Just say it, damn it!"
"It's Sofia." The words came out in a rush, as if he wanted to vomit them out and be free. "It's about Sofia."
My half-sister. Monica and my father's golden daughter. The spoiled little princess who had everything I never had. And now...
"What's about Sofia?" But my voice was already empty, because some part of me already knew. Some sick, twisted part of me already knew exactly what he was going to say.
Rafael ran a hand through his hair, destroying the careful gel.
"She's sick. Very sick." His words came faster now. "The doctors... they said she doesn't have much time." Six months. Maybe less.
Sofia, dying? No. No, she'd been here minutes ago, perfectly healthy, smiling that cat-like smile she always wore when she got what she wanted...
"And what does that have to do with our marriage?" But I already knew. Oh God, I already knew.
Rafael looked at me, and there were tears in his eyes. Tears. For her.
"She has one last wish." His voice broke. "Just one. Before... before it's too late."
No. No, no, no.
"She wants to get married." The words came out of him like a confession, as if forced out. "She's never had a serious relationship because of her health, she's always been very fragile, and now... now she wants that experience. Once. Before she dies."
The world slowed down. The words didn't make sense. They couldn't make sense.
"And she asked you?" My voice didn't sound like mine. It was distant, strange. "My sister asked you to marry her?" "Half-sister," he corrected automatically, and I almost laughed at the insanity of it all. "Elena, I don't want to do this. You have to believe me. But it's a dying person's last wish. How can I say no?"
"Saying no!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the garden. "Saying, 'Sorry, Sofia, but I'm marrying your sister tomorrow, remember? The woman who's been by my side for six years? So no, I'm not canceling my wedding a day early to make your fantasy come true!"
"It's not fantasy! It's..." He stopped, searching for words. "It's compassion. It's humanity. Elena, she's dying!"
"And I'm here! Alive! Waiting to marry you for six years! Working two jobs to support you while you built your company! Giving up my dreams, my career, everything, so that You could succeed!" Each word came out like a knife. "And you're going to throw all this away for her?"
"I'm not throwing it away!" He grabbed me by the shoulders, and I saw genuine desperation in his eyes. "Elena, listen. It's just a ceremony. Just paperwork. Nothing more. No honeymoon, no… no nothing. Just the wedding itself, so she can have this memory before she—"
"Before she dies," I finished, my voice dead. "And then? What happens then?"
"Then I'll come back to you!" He squeezed my shoulders as if he could make me understand through physical force. "Elena, I promise. As soon as I give her this, as soon as she has this moment, I'll come back. And we'll get married. We'll have everything we planned."
I looked at this man. This man I'd loved since I was twenty. This man who had proposed to me in the pouring rain and told me I was the love of his life.
And I realized he was asking me to settle for leftovers. He was asking me to wait while he married my sister, while he gave her the day that should have been mine, while he made vows—even if temporary—to someone else.
"A secondhand wedding," I whispered. "You're offering me a secondhand wedding."
"It's not like that..."
"It's exactly like that!" Tears finally fell, hot and bitter. "Rafael, you're asking me to accept that you're going to marry my sister tomorrow, on the day that should have been ours, in the church I chose, with the flowers I selected, probably with the priest we know. And then, when she dies, you come back to me and we finally get married? With the leftovers? With the crumbs?"
"Elena, please, try to understand..."
"Understand?" I laughed, but it was a broken, humorless sound. "Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly. You're choosing her. You're choosing the rich girl, my father's favorite daughter, the spoiled princess who always had everything. You're choosing her over me." "She's dying!"
"AND I'M HERE!" I screamed with everything I had. "Here, loving you, supporting you, waiting for you! But that's not enough, is it? Because Sofia snaps her fingers, and you jump. Just like everyone else always did. Just like my father did, like Monica did, like everyone in this damn family does!"
"That's not fair..."
"FAIR?" I pushed him, and he staggered, surprised. "You want to talk about fair? Is it fair to cancel our wedding a day early? Is it fair to ask me to accept you marrying my sister? Is it fair to throw away six years like this?"
"I'm not throwing it away! I'll be back! Elena, I swear, I'll be back!"
"No." The word came out calm, cold, final. "No, you won't be back. Because I won't be waiting."
He went white.
"What?"
"You heard." I slipped the engagement ring off my finger—the ring I'd worn for a year, the one I adored, the one that represented all my hopes and dreams—and held it between us. "You want to marry Sofia? Fine. Marry her. But not me. Never me."
"Elena, no..." He reached out, but I recoiled.
"Take the damn ring, Rafael."
"No, listen, I didn't think... let me explain better..."
"GET THE RING!" I threw it at him, and it bounced off his chest before falling to the grass. "It's over. We're over. You made your choice. Now you live with her."
"Elena, please..." And now he was crying too, tears streaming down his face. "Don't do this. It doesn't end like this."
"I'm not over." My voice was surprisingly calm now, every tear dried, every emotion drained. "You ended it when you decided she was more important." When you decided her desire was worth more than my heart. You ended it the moment you put her before me.
"It was only because she's..."
"Dying. I know." I backed away, each step feeling like it weighed a ton. "And honestly? Right now, I envy her. Because death would be less painful than this."
"Elena!"
But I was already leaving, crossing the garden back to the church, where the other people were still talking, oblivious to how my entire world had crumbled.
Cláudia saw me first. Her eyes widened at my face—no doubt red and tear-stained.
"Elena? My God, what happened?"
"The wedding is canceled." The words came out mechanically. "There will be no ceremony tomorrow."
Absolute silence. All conversation stopped. All eyes turned to me.
My father, Augusto Moreira, was the first to speak.
"What did you do?" His voice was cold, accusatory. Of course. Of course it would be my fault.
"I didn't do anything." I looked at him, at this man who had never defended me, who had always chosen his new family over me. "Ask your favorite son-in-law. He's out there, planning to marry your favorite daughter tomorrow."
Monica paled. Sofia, who was sitting silently on a bench, didn't seem the least bit surprised.
She knew. The bitch had known all along.
"Sofia, what is she talking about?" Monica turned to her daughter.
"Mommy, I..." Sofia tried to look fragile, but there was triumph in her eyes. Triumph barely concealed. "I didn't want it to be like this, but I... I just asked if Rafael could give me this moment. A wedding. Before I... before it's too late."
"And he said yes," I finished, my voice dead. "He said yes, Monica. Congratulations. Your daughter has it all back. Including my fiancé."
"Elena, don't be dramatic." My father finally spoke, and the contempt in his voice cut deeper than anything Rafael had said. "Sofia is sick. Mortally sick. A little compassion wouldn't kill you."
"Compassion?" I looked at him in disbelief. "Daddy, she's stealing my wedding. My day. My fiancé!"
"And you're being selfish." His sentence was final. "Six months, Elena. She has six months to live. Can't you give her that? Can't you be generous for once in your life?"
And there, in that moment, something inside me broke completely.
Because I realized it would never be enough. I would never be the right daughter. I would never be chosen.
"Of course." My voice was hollow. "Of course it's my fault. Why wouldn't it be? It always is."
I turned to leave, but Monica's voice stopped me.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Away from here. Away from all of you."
"And live how?" She smiled, and it was a snake's smile. "You have no money of your own. You have no career. You've spent the last six years supporting that man instead of building something for yourself."
"I'll manage."
"Good luck." Her tone made it clear what she thought of my chances.
I left that church for the second time in an hour, but this time I knew I would never return.
The sun was setting over Valmont, dyeing the sky blood red.
Fitting. Because my life, as I knew it, was bleeding to death.
And amid all that pain, all that destruction, a single truth burned in my mind:
Sofia always got what she wanted. Always.
My room. My clothes. My friends. Our father's attention.
And now, my fiancé.
But at least I had one thing she never would:
My freedom.
Because unlike her, I wasn't tied to this family of snakes.
And I never, ever would be again.
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