He hesitated. Then muttered, “Daniel helped. The paramedics were actors. They thought it was for some kind of filmed event. And the doctor owed him a favor.”
By then, people around us were openly listening. An older woman across the aisle leaned forward.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I don’t mean to interfere, but did this man pretend to die at his own wedding?”
Karl’s face darkened. “This is private.”
“It stopped being private when you started confessing on public transportation,” she said.
A younger guy behind us made a face. “Okay, but his parents sound insane.”
The woman snapped, “And so does he.”
A man near the back added, “Lady, he’s trying to escape a controlling rich family. That’s not nothing.”
The bus felt charged now, like tension was crackling in the air.
Karl looked at me, desperate and angry. “Ignore them. Listen to me. It’s done. There’s no going back, but we can still have a good life.”
For a moment, I imagined it—a new city, a nice home, money, a family, no worries.
Then I remembered standing beside a coffin, trying not to collapse.
Alone.
I looked at him and felt the last of my love break.
The bus slowed for the next stop. I picked up my bag and stood.
