The Moment I Threw My Bridal Bouquet At My Groom, People Thought I Was Ruining A Wedding. They Were Wrong. I Was Saving My Own Life….
Claire could barely hear him. The world narrowed to that name, to the man she had been grieving, to the suspicion she had buried because grief was already heavy enough without accusing the rich man now standing beside her.
Something in her body made the decision before her mind could soften it.
She ripped the bridal bouquet from her hands and threw it into Weston’s chest.
“I am not signing anything with you.”
Gasps scattered through the crowd.
Weston reached for her arm.
“Claire, do not embarrass yourself.”
She stepped back.
“I would rather run barefoot through this town than let your money own one more breath of my life.”
Then she gathered the satin skirt and ran.
She ran past the reporters, past the courthouse steps, past the river wind that tore pins from her hair, and she did not stop until the sound of Weston’s voice disappeared behind traffic and distance.
Part 2: The Boy Who Carried The Letter
By the time Claire reached her parents’ small house outside town, her feet were scraped, her hair had fallen loose, and the hem of the expensive dress was stained with street dust.
Her mother, Ruth, opened the door and cried out.
