Then, from her small clutch, she pulled out a single white envelope. No name, no decoration\u2014just plain and sealed. She placed it gently into my hand, but her touch felt almost heavy, as if she was handing over more than paper.<\/p>\n
\u201cGive this to Leo,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cAfter the ceremony. Not before. Not during. After.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart skipped, thudding in my chest.
\n\u201cAmy, sweetheart\u2026 are you okay? Just wedding nerves?\u201d<\/p>\n
But she shook her head slowly, her eyes distant. \u201cHe needs to hear this from you. It has to be you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The way she said it\u2026 not dramatic. Not emotional. Just\u2026 final. As if this decision had been made long before I stepped into that room. As if this moment was merely the last box to check.<\/p>\n
I turned the envelope over in my hand, hesitating.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s in it?\u201d I asked carefully.<\/p>\n
Amy didn\u2019t reply. She just gave me the faintest nod\u2014like someone acknowledging a passing breeze\u2014and slipped out, the long train of her gown trailing behind her like a shadow.<\/p>\n
I stood there alone, staring at the envelope. It didn\u2019t feel like much\u2014light, barely there, maybe one or two sheets of paper inside. No markings. No hints of anything sinister.<\/p>\n
But my stomach knotted all the same.<\/p>\n
Something told me that whatever was written inside\u2026 would change everything.<\/p>\n