“No,” I said. “You loved the price tag.”
The sun was rising over the ocean as we sat on the beach, a few miles from the police station. We had built a small bonfire from driftwood.
I stood by the fire, shivering in the morning chill. I took off the ruined wedding dress. It was heavy with the weight of the lie I had lived.
I threw it into the flames.
The silk caught fire instantly, curling and blackening, the lace turning to ash. I watched my “fairytale” burn.
Sarah walked over and draped a thick wool blanket over my shoulders. She pulled me into a hug.
I rested my head on her shoulder, watching the smoke rise.
“You know,” I whispered, “I thought you were jealous. I thought you hated my happiness.”
Sarah smiled, a tired, sad smile. She squeezed my shoulder.
“I never wanted you to be unhappy, Maya,” she said. “I just wanted you to be alive. I don’t need a prince for you. I just need my sister.”
We sat there, watching the sun burn off the mist. The fairytale was a lie, a trap set by a monster in a tuxedo. But as I held my sister’s hand, I realized I had something better than a fairytale.
I had the truth. And I had the only person who would burn the world down to save me.
