Three days before our wedding, Lance Mitchell sent me the flight tickets for our honeymoon. I tapped open the booking. Three tickets total. Besides him and me, there was Alaine Torres. I thought it had to be a mistake, but Lance was right there, double-checking Alaine's passport number for the reservation. "Alaine just got laid off, she's been in a really bad place lately. This is the perfect chance to take her along to cheer her up." I clenched my phone so tight my knuckles whitened. "This is our honeymoon." He looked up and grinned, like I was overreacting over nothing. "It's just a trip, Trina. More people mean more fun, right?" He'd been like this for all seven years we'd been together. I'd lost count of how many times he'd put her first. On our very first date, Alaine had just gotten dumped, so the three of us ended up going to the movies together. When we first moved in together, she said she was terrified of thunder, so she crashed in our guest room for six whole months. The first time we introduced each other to our friend groups, she got wasted. Lance draped his own jacket over her shoulders, then told me, in my short little dress, to hail a cab and go home by myself. After a while, I'd even gotten used to it: booking three tickets whenever we went anywhere, setting three pairs of utensils on the table at dinner. But I'd kept lying to myself this whole time. Things would be different once we got married, I told myself. A marriage is supposed to have room for two people, and two people only. That delusion shattered for good during our wedding rehearsal. The hotel only had two dressing rooms left. One was a nice, spacious suite with its own private bathroom. The other was a cramped, dinky little closet they'd cleared out at the last minute, still half-stuffed with random decor and cleaning supplies. Lance handed the key card to the big, nice room straight to Alaine. "She has three different bridesmaid dresses to change into. You only have one wedding gown, you'll be fine squeezing into the smaller one." Even my makeup artist froze, her brush hovering midair, shocked he'd actually say that out loud. I stared right at him. "Lance, what about after we're married?" He blinked, confused. "What about it?" "Our home, our trips, our anniversaries down the line. Is it always going to be three of us?" His face tightened, and he frowned like I was being unreasonably difficult over nothing. "Trina Olivera, we're literally about to get married. Can you quit making a fuss over this out of nowhere?" I made up my mind right then. The wedding was three days out. That's when I'd decide once and for all. Either stay and go through with it, or walk away for good. No second chances, no take backs.