Chapter 1Left Behind At The Gate

Our destination wedding in Maui was supposed to be a small, intimate affair. Months ago, Wayne and I had agreed that both of our families would fly out together.

But on the morning of our departure, I sat at O'Hare International Airport, watching the clock tick away.

When Wayne finally arrived, he wasn't alone. Along with him was his lifelong friend, Phoebe, her parents, and a trailing entourage of nearly ten of her extended relatives.

Each one of them held a first-class boarding pass.

My parents were nowhere to be seen.

I stood up, my chest tightening. "Wayne, where are my parents?"

He was busy wheeling Phoebe’s mother's designer suitcase, his head barely turning to meet my eyes. "There weren't enough tickets left."

"I got them Amtrak coach tickets instead."

A thirty-plus-hour train ride.

Followed by a Greyhound bus, and then a ferry.

My father had just undergone major spinal surgery less than two months ago. My mother suffered from such severe motion sickness that even a twenty-minute car ride left her pale and vomiting.

My voice trembled. "Then how does Phoebe’s entire extended family have first-class plane tickets?"

Wayne frowned, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. "Phoebe's parents are getting older, Iris. They can't handle a stressful journey. Besides, her aunt and cousins were a last-minute addition. I couldn't just tell them they couldn't come after they went through the trouble of packing."

My phone buzzed in my hand.

It was my mother. Her voice was soft, laced with a familiar, painful caution, as if she were terrified of becoming a burden to me.

"Sweetheart, your father and I have never been on a plane anyway. We were worried we’d just embarrass you. The train is lovely. We'll be there before you know it."

A lump formed in my throat. Before I could speak, I heard my father coughing in the background. It was a dry, raspy sound, and he quickly muffled it, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

"Don't tell her, Helen. It's her wedding day. Don't make her worry."

Standing in the bustling terminal, looking at Wayne surrounded by Phoebe's laughing, vibrant family, a cold realization washed over me.

This wedding didn't need to happen.

* * *

Phoebe stepped forward, her eyes instantly welling with tears.

"Iris, please don't be mad at Wayne. If it makes you feel better, I can ask Aunt Carol to give up her ticket." She paused, her voice dropping to a delicate whisper. "It’s just... Aunt Carol has never seen the ocean before. She’s been looking forward to this trip for months."

Wayne immediately reached out, patting the back of Phoebe's hand reassuringly. "This has nothing to do with you, Phoebe. I made the travel arrangements."

He turned back to me, his tone clipped and impatient. "Phoebe’s family is already here at the airport, Iris. We can’t just turn them away."

Behind him, one of Phoebe’s cousins muttered with a small chuckle, "Honestly, small-town folks probably prefer the train anyway. Flying has so many rules and security checks. They’d probably just end up anxious."

Wayne clearly heard it.

Yet, he only sighed. "They don't mean any harm. It's our wedding day, Iris. Don't be so sensitive."

I stared at him, feeling a sudden, sharp distance between us. "My father just had spinal surgery, Wayne. My mother can barely ride in a car. And you expect them to travel across the country on a train to attend my wedding?"

Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't dramatize this. Your parents are simple, old-fashioned people. They won't mind the train. I already sent them the route. Once they get off, the bus and ferry transfers are very straightforward."

He spoke with such effortless ease.

But all I could picture was my father’s stiff, unbending spine, and my mother’s face turning white at the mere smell of a bus cabin.

My phone vibrated again.

It was my mother. The background noise on her end was deafening—the mechanical clatter of tracks, the blare of a train station intercom.

Her voice was still small, still soothing. "Iris, we're on board. The seats are fine, really. Don't worry about us."

My throat locked up. "Mom, get off the train. Right now. I’ll buy you plane tickets myself."

"No, no, don't waste your money," she said quickly, panic in her voice. "Your fiancé went to so much trouble to organize all of this. He did a wonderful job. I’ve never flown before, Iris. I was honestly terrified of ruining your special day."

Through the receiver, my father’s muffled cough cut through the static again. "Don't tell her," he urged my mother. "It's her big day. Let her be happy."

My eyes stung fiercely. "Dad, does your back hurt?"

He forced a laugh. "Not at all, sweetheart. I feel great. Don't you worry about a thing."

In the next second, a harsh voice boomed near the phone. "Hey, old man! Move it! You're blocking the aisle!"

I heard my mother quickly apologizing, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. His back is bad, he's just a little slow. We're moving."

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

I could see them so clearly. My father, holding onto the headrests for support, unable to straighten his back. My mother, desperately shielding their cheap suitcases while bowing and apologizing to strangers.

They had never flown in their lives.

Before this trip, they had been as excited as children.

Two weeks ago, I had gone back to our hometown to pick up some documents. I walked in to find my father standing in front of our cracked hallway mirror, trying on a navy suit. He had saved up for a month to buy it off the rack from a local department store, determined not to look out of place at his daughter's destination wedding.

The sleeves were slightly too long. The shoulders slouched.

But he had turned to me, beaming. "Iris, do you think I look presentable? I won't embarrass you in front of Wayne's family, will I?"

Meanwhile, my mother was busy packing Ziploc bags of homemade pecan brittle, home-cured venison jerky, and little bags of roasted peanuts.

"It's our first time meeting so many of his relatives," she had said, her fingers carefully tying the ribbons. "We can't show up empty-handed. Your fiancé is so good to you; we have to show proper manners."

At the time, I had laughed, telling them they were overthinking it. I told them, "Wayne has taken care of everything. Just follow us."

My mother’s eyes had lit up. The very next day, she told everyone she ran into: "My daughter is getting married in Maui. My son-in-law is flying us out."

But now.

They weren't on a plane. They didn't even have a ticket with their names on it.

On the phone, my mother was still trying to placate me. "Iris, don't be angry with Wayne. He’s a busy man, and managing a wedding is stressful. We’re perfectly happy on the train. We’re saving you some money this way."

I closed my eyes, a tear escaping down my cheek.

"Mom, get off the train," I said, my voice dead and quiet. "I’m not getting married."