“You really do hate me, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost inaudible. She squeezed her eyes closed, hating that she was fighting with him on their wedding day, regardless if it wasn’t real. “Maybe I don’t hate you,” she confessed, her shoulders falling in defeat. If only she could hang on to her anger and truly hate him, it’d help her move on. “But I don’t think I can trust you not to hurt me again.”
