SERAPHINA’S POV
If one walked down a street and got mugged, they'd forever be wary of that street, right?
That was how trauma was supposed to work: pain taught caution, betrayal taught distance, and broken hearts hesitated before returning to what had shattered them.
By all logic, I should have been terrified.
The last time I did this, I'd walked toward a man who couldn't see me, into a marriage built on mistaken memories, resentment, and distance, believing that if I simply loved enough, endured enough, waited long enough, everything would somehow fall into place.
Everything had fallen apart instead.
And yet...
As I stood before the mirror in the bridal suite, smoothing my palms over ivory satin embroidered with tiny silver blossoms that reflected the morning light, I couldn't find a single trace of that old fear.
It wasn't because I had forgotten what happened; it was because this wasn't the same street.
