Chapter 11
The weeks that followed were chaos.
Ryan was formally charged with conspiracy to commit murder, insurance fraud, and as an accessory in the death of Megan Hayes. Victoria was charged with murder, attempted murder, and a dozen other counts.
The media exploded. "GROOM PLOTTED TO KILL BRIDE ON WEDDING DAY" was the headline that ran for weeks.
I became an instant public figure—the woman who survived her own wedding.
They didn't know the half of it.
I couldn't exactly tell reporters, "Actually, I died six times before I got it right."
I sat through depositions, police interviews, and meetings with prosecutors. I answered every question truthfully—minus the time loop parts, which I kept between myself and Ethan.
Sophie called me seventeen times. I didn't answer.
On the eighteenth call, I picked up.
"Bella, please," she was crying. "I swear I didn't know he was going to kill you. I thought—I thought he was just going to divorce you after the wedding. He told me he loved me. He said—"
"He said a lot of things, Sophie."
"I know. I know. And I'm so sorry. I was selfish and stupid and I betrayed you and—"
"You handed me the poison, Sophie."
Silence.
"You handed me a drink you knew was 'special.' Maybe you didn't know it would kill me. But you knew something was in it. Didn't you?"
More silence. Then, very quietly: "He said it was just a sedative. To make you sleepy so he could... he said he needed time to move money around."
"And you believed that."
"I wanted to believe it." Her voice broke. "Because I wanted him."
I closed my eyes. "Goodbye, Sophie."
I hung up and deleted her number.
Some betrayals are forgivable. Some aren't. Sophie's fell in the space between—but I didn't have the energy to figure out which side. Not yet.
Meanwhile, Ethan became a constant presence. Not in a romantic way—at least, not at first. He was just... there. Checking in. Making sure I was eating. Making sure the nightmares weren't eating me alive.
"Do you still dream about it?" I asked him one evening. We were sitting on my apartment balcony, watching the sunset.
"Every night," he said. "Four hundred versions of the worst day of my life. That doesn't go away."
"How do you function?"
"Therapy. A truly alarming amount of therapy." He paused. "And knowing it worked. Knowing you're here."
I looked at him—really looked at him for the first time without the haze of panic and death between us.
He was handsome. Not in Ryan's polished, practiced way. In a quieter way. The way of someone who'd carried an impossible weight and refused to break under it.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Anything."
"In all those loops—four hundred times—did you ever think about just... stopping? Letting it go? Letting me die and hoping the loop would release you?"
Ethan was quiet for a long time.
"Once," he finally said. "Around loop two hundred. I was exhausted. I'd tried everything. I watched you die that day and thought, maybe this is my punishment. Maybe I'm supposed to accept this."
"What happened?"
"I woke up the next loop. And you smiled at that bartender when you ordered coffee. This completely unselfconscious smile. And I thought—" He turned to look at me. "I thought, I'm not going to let this world lose that smile."
My heart did something it hadn't done since long before Ryan. It fluttered.
"That's either the most romantic or the most stalker-ish thing anyone's ever said to me," I said.
He laughed. A real laugh. "Probably both."
Ryan was formally charged with conspiracy to commit murder, insurance fraud, and as an accessory in the death of Megan Hayes. Victoria was charged with murder, attempted murder, and a dozen other counts.
The media exploded. "GROOM PLOTTED TO KILL BRIDE ON WEDDING DAY" was the headline that ran for weeks.
I became an instant public figure—the woman who survived her own wedding.
They didn't know the half of it.
I couldn't exactly tell reporters, "Actually, I died six times before I got it right."
I sat through depositions, police interviews, and meetings with prosecutors. I answered every question truthfully—minus the time loop parts, which I kept between myself and Ethan.
Sophie called me seventeen times. I didn't answer.
On the eighteenth call, I picked up.
"Bella, please," she was crying. "I swear I didn't know he was going to kill you. I thought—I thought he was just going to divorce you after the wedding. He told me he loved me. He said—"
"He said a lot of things, Sophie."
"I know. I know. And I'm so sorry. I was selfish and stupid and I betrayed you and—"
"You handed me the poison, Sophie."
Silence.
"You handed me a drink you knew was 'special.' Maybe you didn't know it would kill me. But you knew something was in it. Didn't you?"
More silence. Then, very quietly: "He said it was just a sedative. To make you sleepy so he could... he said he needed time to move money around."
"And you believed that."
"I wanted to believe it." Her voice broke. "Because I wanted him."
I closed my eyes. "Goodbye, Sophie."
I hung up and deleted her number.
Some betrayals are forgivable. Some aren't. Sophie's fell in the space between—but I didn't have the energy to figure out which side. Not yet.
Meanwhile, Ethan became a constant presence. Not in a romantic way—at least, not at first. He was just... there. Checking in. Making sure I was eating. Making sure the nightmares weren't eating me alive.
"Do you still dream about it?" I asked him one evening. We were sitting on my apartment balcony, watching the sunset.
"Every night," he said. "Four hundred versions of the worst day of my life. That doesn't go away."
"How do you function?"
"Therapy. A truly alarming amount of therapy." He paused. "And knowing it worked. Knowing you're here."
I looked at him—really looked at him for the first time without the haze of panic and death between us.
He was handsome. Not in Ryan's polished, practiced way. In a quieter way. The way of someone who'd carried an impossible weight and refused to break under it.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Anything."
"In all those loops—four hundred times—did you ever think about just... stopping? Letting it go? Letting me die and hoping the loop would release you?"
Ethan was quiet for a long time.
"Once," he finally said. "Around loop two hundred. I was exhausted. I'd tried everything. I watched you die that day and thought, maybe this is my punishment. Maybe I'm supposed to accept this."
"What happened?"
"I woke up the next loop. And you smiled at that bartender when you ordered coffee. This completely unselfconscious smile. And I thought—" He turned to look at me. "I thought, I'm not going to let this world lose that smile."
My heart did something it hadn't done since long before Ryan. It fluttered.
"That's either the most romantic or the most stalker-ish thing anyone's ever said to me," I said.
He laughed. A real laugh. "Probably both."