Dinner with my mom and dad goes well. They think my general malaise is from the shooting, and I don’t correct them. If I tell them about Slade, they’ll dig, and I’ll have to tell them everything. If they knew the details, they’d be shocked and mortified, casting judgment. It would only make it harder for me to move forward from everything. We eat, and I smile.

Sanam’s wedding is beautiful. Perfect in all the ways that matter to her. I exit the ballroom, filled with champagne and steak, gowns and diamonds. The entire ceiling is coated with red roses, nothing of the original painted white showing. Even the arms of the crystal chandeliers are wrapped in thin green vines. It smells and looks like a dreamy rainforest.

Sanam just changed into her third gown for the evening, this one a short and heavily beaded dress. Her makeup continues to hold up despite the broken capillaries in her eyes from vomiting earlier tonight.

“Staying at a size double zero takes work, Lauren.” She wipes her mouth using the back of her arm, heaving.

I wasn’t supposed to overhear her puking, but I did.

“I know,” I reply soothingly. “Weddings are stressful. Soon, you’ll be Mrs. Nader, and you’ll be honeymooning on the Riviera. Your life will be amazing, and all of this will have been worth it.”

My words aren’t true but meant to pacify. She’s about to walk down the aisle. Now isn’t the time for her to hear an earful of reality.

She wraps me in her skinny arms. “So lucky to have you. I don’t deserve you. We didn’t even discuss what happened in Vegas …”

“Don’t think about that now.” I swat my hand in front of my face, as though clearing the air. “It’s your wedding!” I exclaim excitedly, plastering a large, fake grin on my face.

Three hours later and primped to the hilt, she is ready for showtime. Vera Wang satin gown, hair in an Audrey Hepburn–style bun, makeup cleanly airbrushed.

Her last words, “Soon for you,” are said with genuine kindness as she squeezes my manicured hands in her own.

In her own way, she loves me.

Taking the elevator downstairs with her entourage of hairstylist, makeup artist, and mother, she’s as happy tonight as she’ll ever be.

Watching her dance with her husband, the truth comes. After years of friendship with Sanam, I want a divorce. What we have between us is no longer who I am or what I want to be associated with. Still, I’m not evil. I promised to be here for her tonight, and I’d never shirk my responsibilities as her maid of honor.

I find myself dancing with the bride in the center of the dance floor. A circle of guests surrounds us, clapping. Beneath candy-coated smiles are vultures, eager to check out every detail of the beautiful bride—diamond Harry Winston watch, four-carat diamond stud earrings from Tiffany, gigantic rock on her left hand flushed with a shimmering eternity band. As an afterthought, they gloss over her single friend—me. One of Sanam’s cousins is pushed to where we are dancing, and I take it as my cue to leave. Thank God.