Chapter 2

Claire's POV

My parents caught up with me near the church entrance. Mom's mascara had run down her cheeks, and Dad looked ready to murder someone.

"Claire, honey, wait—" Mom grabbed my arm.

"I'm going home, Mom." My voice came out flat. "I just need to go home."

"We'll come with you," Dad said, his face red with anger. "We need to talk about this. That bastard and his family—"

"No." I squeezed Mom's hand. "I just want to be alone right now. Please."

Mom pulled me into a hug, and I felt her trembling. "We'll get you an explanation, baby. I promise. The Hamiltons are going to answer for this."

"Just go home and rest," Dad added, his voice tight. "We'll handle everything. We'll make this right."

I nodded against Mom's shoulder, not trusting myself to speak. Then I pulled away, gave them what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile, and headed for my car with Mia's small hand in mine.

The apartment door clicked shut behind us, and Mia immediately walked past me, heading straight for the bathroom like she'd been here a thousand times.

I stood there in my wedding dress, still holding my phone, watching this little girl in a muddy pink dress move through my home with zero hesitation. She didn't look around, didn't ask where anything was. She just pushed open the bathroom door and went directly to the cabinet under the sink.

The cabinet where I keep my towels.

She pulled out a clean white towel and started washing her hands and face, completely natural, like this was her routine.

Okay, what the actual fuck?

"Mia. How did you know where the towels are?"

She looked up at me through the mirror, water dripping down her chin. For a second, something crossed her face, surprise maybe. Then it was gone.

"I guessed," she said.

"You guessed." I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That I keep towels in that specific cabinet."

"Yeah." She hung the towel back up carefully, putting it exactly where it belonged. "Lucky guess."

I didn't believe her for a second. But I was too exhausted to deal with this right now.

She walked past me into the kitchen, and I followed because what else was I going to do? She went straight to the cabinet above the coffee maker, stood on her tiptoes, and pulled out a cup.

Not just any cup. My cup. The Mickey Mouse one I've had since sophomore year, the one I use every single morning.

My stomach dropped.

"Mia, stop." I walked toward her. "Did Derek bring you here before? Is that how you know where everything is?"

She shook her head, filling the cup with water. "No. I've never been here with Dad."

"Then how do you know—"

"I told you. I'm from the future." She took a sip, looking at me over the rim with those big brown eyes. "I know things."

I should have pushed. Should have demanded real answers. But standing there in this stupid wedding dress that I'd spent three months picking out, watching this kid drink from my favorite cup, I just couldn't anymore. I was done. Completely and utterly done with this day.

I went to my bedroom and changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. When I came back, Mia had settled on the couch with her legs dangling off the edge, still holding that Mickey Mouse cup.

I sat down across from her. The coffee table between us felt like a negotiating table.

"Mia, I need you to tell me the truth." I tried to keep my voice calm. "Are you really Derek and Isabelle's daughter?"

"Yes."

"But they broke up seven years ago. Derek never mentioned a child. Not once in two years."

"That's because Grandma made Mom leave." Mia's hands tightened around the cup. "She threatened her. Said she'd destroy Mom's family if she didn't disappear. So Mom left, and Dad never knew she was pregnant."

Derek's mother. That cold, calculating woman. Yeah, I could absolutely see her doing something like that. She'd probably convinced herself she was protecting Derek, protecting the family legacy or whatever bullshit rich people tell themselves.

"So where have you been all this time? Where's Isabelle?"

"I can't tell you everything." Mia looked away, and for the first time, she actually looked like a scared kid. "Some things... if I tell you too much, it might change things."

"Change what?"

"The future."

There it was again. This future thing. She kept saying it like it was fact.

"Mia. Someone had to tell you what to say at the church. Who sent you?"

"Nobody sent me." Now she sounded frustrated, almost angry. "I came on my own because I had to. Because..." She stopped, biting her lip hard enough that I worried she'd hurt herself. "Because it was important."

I studied her face. The resemblance to Derek was obvious, same dark eyes, same dimpled chin, even the way she frowned when she was thinking. But there was something else. Something I couldn't name. This weird sense that I'd seen that expression before, but not on Derek.

Mia yawned, a huge jaw-cracking yawn that made her look like an actual kid.

"You must be exhausted," I said. "Let me get the guest room ready."

She followed me down the hall without arguing. I found clean sheets in the closet and made up the bed while she watched. When I turned around, she was standing there in that filthy pink dress, looking small and lost and nothing like the weirdly mature kid who'd been lecturing me about the future.

"I don't have any kids' clothes," I said, then felt stupid because obviously I didn't. "But let me find you something clean to sleep in."

"This is fine," she said quietly.

"At least let me wash it." I helped her out of the dress, she had to shimmy out of it, and there were actual leaves stuck to the fabric, and gave her one of my t-shirts.

I took her dress to the washing machine, tossed it in with some detergent, and came back to find her already under the covers.

"Comfortable?" I asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

I should have left. Should have gone to my own room and tried to process the absolute disaster that had been today. But instead I sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at this kid who'd destroyed my life.

Except she looked so peaceful lying there. Just a little girl who probably didn't understand half of what she'd gotten involved in.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw the Instagram notification.

Derek Hamilton posted a photo.

Don't look. You don't need to see—

I opened it anyway.

There he was. Derek. My fiancé, my almost-husband, the man who was supposed to love me forever, standing at JFK with his arms wrapped around a gorgeous woman with long hair. Their fingers were intertwined like they'd never been apart. He was looking at her the way he'd never looked at me, not even once in two years. Like she was his entire world.

The caption: Seven years later, still you. I'm sorry I was a coward.

My hands started shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone.

This is Isabelle. This is the woman he left me for. The woman he's loved this whole fucking time.

"So that's what I was," I whispered. "A placeholder. Something to do while he waited for her to come back."

Two years. Two years of my life. I quit my job for him, left Boston, left my friends, left everything. Moved to New York because he said we'd build a life here. And the whole time I was just... nothing. A distraction. Someone to pass the time with until his real love returned.

The tears came fast and hot. I tried to be quiet, tried not to wake Mia, but I couldn't stop. Everything I'd been holding in since the church, the humiliation of three hundred people watching him run away, the betrayal, the absolute crushing pain of realizing I'd never mattered at all, it all came crashing down at once.

Something small and warm touched my hand.

Mia was awake, holding out a tissue from the nightstand.

"Don't cry," she said softly.

I took the tissue, tried to smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

But Mia sat up and reached for my face, her small hands gentle as she wiped away my tears. There was something in her eyes that I couldn't read. Something that looked almost like guilt, which made no sense.

"Claire," she said, "My dad and mom are very much in love. They've always been in love."

"Yeah," I managed to say. "I'm getting that."

"He abandoned you once." Mia's hands moved to hold mine, her grip surprisingly strong. "He'll do it again. And again. A person who can walk away at the altar will always walk away. You understand?"

I stared at her. Those words didn't sound like something a kid would say.

"You should give up on him," Mia continued, her eyes locked on mine. "You deserve someone better. Someone who won't leave you standing alone in a wedding dress in front of everyone you know."

She was right. God, she was completely right. But hearing it out loud, hearing it from this little girl who looked so much like the man who'd just torn my heart out...

I couldn't hold it together anymore.

I pulled Mia into my arms and cried. This kid I'd met four hours ago, who'd ruined my wedding, who'd brought all this pain into my life, she just held me and let me fall apart completely.

"I'll let him go," I finally said, my voice muffled against her shoulder. "I promise. I'll let him go."

"You promise?" Mia pulled back to look at me, and her cheeks were wet too. "You really promise?"

"I promise."

She nodded like I'd just made some kind of binding contract, then lay back down. I helped her get settled, pulling the blanket up under her chin.

"Goodnight, Mia," I whispered.

"Goodnight," she murmured, already drifting off. "Thank you for taking me in..."

I should have left then. Should have gone to my own bed and tried to sleep, tried to pretend today had been a bad dream. But I stayed there on the edge of her bed, watching this strange little girl sleep.

She looked peaceful now. Innocent. Just a kid caught up in adult problems that weren't her fault.

I watched her sleeping face. Her hair spread across the pillow, the tiny scar near her left eyebrow, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

There was something about her. Something that felt... familiar. But not because she looked like Derek.

Why do I feel like I know her?