Strings of Fate: The First Loop

EPILOGUE

Inez- 7 Years Later
2024. Post-COVID

Let me tell you something: if you had asked me five or six years ago whether I thought Elizabeth Marie Finn would end up walking down the aisle in a puff-sleeved, snow-colored, Disney-princess-level wedding gown… I would've snorted, spilled my iced caramel macchiato, and told you to go touch grass.

But today? Today is a fairytale.

Except this one comes with burnt coffee, late-night breakdowns, overpriced architecture boards, and the very real aftermath of a global pandemic.

Let’s rewind.

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Six Years of Chaos

Betty and I survived our years of architecture school, by the skin of our teeth and a few groupmates we definitely owe Starbucks gift cards to. She designs sustainable beachfront houses now. And me? I’m the queen of chaotic commercial spaces. If your mall has fifteen escalators and makes zero spatial sense? That was me. You’re welcome.

James, God bless him, finally grew into the man we all hoped he’d be, he’s a full-fledged engineer, still gets lost with Google Maps, and yes, he still thinks his white sneakers go with everything. They don’t. But Betty finds it charming, and who am I to interfere with delusion?

Drake’s an film maker with a growing fanbase and a mustache I refuse to acknowledge. Corey teaches at a public school and is adored by children, moms, and a few substitute teachers.

Tim? Well, we don’t talk about Tim. That’s not a joke. I literally asked our entire group chat to never mention him to me again. He’s like Voldemort, but worse because I actually dated him.

Claire, lovely Claire. She married Betty’s dad last year and brings the best mango float to every barbecue. Classy, quiet, a little awkward when she dances, but perfect for Mr. Finn.

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The invitation came on a Wednesday.

Thick envelope. Handwritten calligraphy. Glitter just enough to be tasteful and not blinding like the time Betty tried to DIY her birthday invites back in senior year. I opened it. Read it. Then screamed so loud I scared Mrs. Alcantara three doors down. (Sorry, Tita.)

> You are cordially invited to the wedding of
Elizabeth Marie Finn & James Andrew Gray
June 29, 2024

I ran around my apartment like a caffeinated hamster.

"It’s happening! It’s actually happening!" I yelled to no one in particular as I danced in mismatched socks. My cat looked concerned. My reflection in the mirror looked feral. I didn’t care. I called my sister Camille and made her promise to go with me to the wedding.

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The Wedding

The wedding was at the shore where it all began, sandy, sun-kissed, and ridiculously photogenic. Lanterns floated above like little stardust dreams. Strings of lights wrapped around palm trees. Soft instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs played in the background (of course Betty picked that). It smelled like salt air, sun lotion, and hope.

Betty stepped out of her hotel room and I swear, time stopped.

Her gown was white, puff-sleeved, flowy in the breeze like a gentle wave. Tiny pearls lined her veil. Her lips were a gentle pink, her eyes soft with tears, and she wore that look like she was finally… whole.

And James? That fool was already crying.

He stood there in a crisp white suit, no tie, barefoot in the sand like some boho dreamboat. And when Betty reached him, he looked at her like she invented hope. My mascara did not survive the first ten minutes.