I shoved the thought down. Locked the drawer. Went back to join the crew.
But the idea didn't leave me.
My mind pulled me back three months, to Brian's wedding.
The Conservatory Garden in Central Park had been transformed into something out of a dream. Late afternoon light filtered through the wisteria pergola, catching the spray from the fountains, turning everything golden. White chairs lined the central lawn, filled with everyone who mattered—the Engine 295 crew taking up an entire row, doctors and nurses from Queens General clustered near the middle, family on both sides dabbing at their eyes before the ceremony even started.
I stood at the front in my dress uniform, Shane beside me, flanking Brian at the altar. Collar too stiff, but I wasn't going to complain.
Brian's hands were steady. His eyes kept drifting to the end of the aisle.
When Ava appeared, his whole face transformed.
I knew that look. That absolute certainty. That moment when the rest of the world goes dim and there's only one person in the room. One person in the universe. One person you'd burn down everything to keep.
I'd worn that look once. Almost a decade ago, standing in a jewelry store, choosing a ring I knew exactly who I wanted to give it to.
I shook off the memory. This was Brian's day.
The vows were personal. Specific. The kind that made you feel like an intruder for witnessing them, even though you'd been invited.
Brian talked about the first day Ava moved in next door. 3 AM conversations on the balcony. Four years of showing up until she stopped waiting for him to leave. Ava talked aboutindependence being survival until it wasn't. Finding someone worth letting in.
I stood at attention and tried not to think about the vows I'd never gotten to make.
The reception was chaos. The good kind.
Shane gave a speech that made everyone cry, then laugh, then cry again—something about Brian's terrible cooking and his better heart, about running into a burning building and the morning he'd finally admitted what everyone else already knew.
Rodriguez's kids ran between tables. Lucia still in her flower girl dress. Marco finally released from the torture of sitting still. Zoe filming everything on her phone.
Shane and Maya ended up wrapped around each other on the dance floor like teenagers. I looked away. Watching them was harder than it should have been.
Brian couldn't stop smiling. Ava couldn't stop looking at him.
I drifted to the edge of the celebration. Found a quiet spot near the garden's perimeter where the noise faded. Champagne I wasn't really drinking. Fountains splashing behind me.
I was happy for them. Genuinely. Brian deserved this—deserved someone who saw him, chose him, stayed.
But watching my friends build the lives I'd almost had...
Sloane would have loved this.
The thought ambushed me. I pushed it away, but it lingered. Stubborn as smoke in fabric.
She would have been the one dragging me onto the dance floor. Making friends with everyone from the caterers to the grandparents. Charming Rodriguez's kids and stealing appetizers off my plate and leaning into my side during the slow songs.
She would have made this night brighter just by being in it.
I pulled out my phone.
The photo was buried deep in my camera roll, but I knew exactly where to find it. I'd looked at it more times than I'd ever admit.
Eight years ago. The night I proposed.
We were on the rooftop of our Brooklyn apartment. The city spread out behind us, a million lights against the dark. Sloane laughing, head thrown back, the ring catching the glow on her finger. I was looking at her like she was the answer to every question I'd ever asked.
We looked so young. So certain.
