Strings of Fate: The First Loop

EPILOGUE

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Of Course I Was Maid of Honor. I would curse this wedding if I'm not.

Listen, I am many things, dramatic, loyal, loud, but modest? Never.

I was the best maid of honor. Dress? Slayed. Vows? Proofread. Emergency kit? Fully stocked with tissues, bobby pins, and mini chocolate bars. I ran that prep room like the head of a mafia family.

And then… there was the best man.

Tim. Freaking. Rivera.

With a new girlfriend, gorgeous, of course. Long legs, minimalist earrings, polite smile. Probably drinks green juice and says things like "energy cleanse." or the kind that orders ceasar salad because she is "vegan."

He didn’t say a word to me, and I didn’t say a word to him. I didn’t need to. My look said everything. And when I handed him the wedding rings, I made sure to flash the "I’m thriving without you" smile.

And he blinked.

Victory.

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The Reception

Reception was full-on Pinterest-core. Long tables with linen runners. Candles in little jars. Bowls of fruit, steaks that melted in your mouth, and wine that had me tipsy after two sips.

James and Betty danced under the stars. He kept whispering something to her. She kept laughing, the kind of laugh that comes from the soul. The kind of laugh you earn. I watched from my seat, sipping wine and pretending not to cry again.

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Look. Life isn’t a fairytale. Not the neat kind anyway. People fall apart. People leave. People disappoint you so hard it bruises your bones. But sometimes, sometimes people grow up.

James did. Betty did. I did.

Betty once told me that home wasn’t a place. It was a person. And today, I watched her walk straight into the arms of the boy who once broke her heart… and built her a life. She chose him. He chose her back. Every day. I used to think love was loud. Fireworks. Speeches. Chaos. Like Clark Kent and Lois Lane, but they proved to me that love can also be this tragic and beautiful embracing of each other's imperfection... quietly but strongly.

Because maybe love is alos the quiet. A butterfly landing on your hand. The smell of coffee in the morning. Or James wiping her tears during their vows with the same hand he once fumbled to hold.

So here’s to the loud girls who learn softness. To the shy ones who become fierce. To best friends who survive time, distance, heartbreak, and Tim.

I raise my glass (again), turn to the crowd, and scream...

“SHE’S MARRIEDDD, B*TCHES!!!”

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And me?

I’ll be okay. I’ve got 20 mall blueprints to draw, a cat who still judges my dating life, a plant on the verge of death by my apartment window, and maybe, just maybe, a new guy at the firm who smells like cinnamon and doesn’t ghost.

But this day? This day was never about me.

It was hers.

And I was honored to stand beside her when she claimed it.

As the ceremony wound down, and Betty and James were whisked off for photos under the golden afternoon light, I stood by the edge of the garden reception, barefoot now because heels are a scam, and let the breeze tangle through my hair. The twinkling fairy lights shimmered against the soft ivory drapes strung between palm trees. Laughter floated in the air, and the scent of grilled seafood and rose petals clung to the warmth of the June evening.

And then, somehow, I thought of Matt.

My eternal rival. The other straight-A machine. The only person who made me roll my eyes in academic competitions just as fast as he made me want to beat my test score by a single decimal. He once told me, “Perfection is a habit,” and I told him, “So is being insufferable.”

I snorted at the memory.

He was abroad now. Harvard Law grad, of course. Top of the class, probably. Now off doing a joint MBA like he hadn’t already mastered every system on Earth. I bet he still color-coded his calendars and still didn’t understand how to lose an argument without citing ten articles and an ethics framework.

We hadn’t talked in years.

And yet… sometimes I missed him. That annoying constancy. That quiet competitive fire. That impossible bar he always raised just so I could jump higher. We were on opposite sides of perfection, but maybe we pushed each other to grow. Still, I hope he trips over a legal brief at least once a week. Just for balance.

I shook off the thought and turned back toward the dance floor where Betty and James were slow dancing under the stars, her puffed white gown glowing in the lights, his white suit jacket a little wrinkled but unmistakably him.

This was their ending. Their beginning.

And as I watched them sway like they were made of the same gravity, I raised my glass, not to the fairy-tale, but to the fact that we survived the chaos, the heartbreak, the exams, the beach, the betrayal, and the healing.

Betty found her peace. James found his anchor. Tim found someone else.

And me?

Well, Inez, always finds her way.

And if life ever dares to challenge me again, I’ll say what I’ve always said:

“I don’t need a happily ever after. I am the plot twist.”