If I close my eyes, I can still feel the imprint of Daniel's hand at my waist during our first dance. He leaned in and murmured a sentence that rearranged the wiring in my ribs: Most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I believed him—right up until the toast that wasn't really a toast, when the word house dropped onto the table like a stone wrapped in silk. The speeches slide into sniping, into my mother’s smile-sharpened-like-cutlery, into Melissa’s “It’s just a roof over your head,” into my own “N

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