Five years after losing my wife, my daughter and I attended my best friend’s wedding — a day that should’ve been beautiful, lighthearted, and uneventful. But when the bride walked down the aisle and the veil lifted, I found myself face-to-face with the woman I had buried in my heart. And just like that, the past slammed into me like a wrecking ball.
I never planned to attend that wedding. Mark had all but dragged me there, insisting I needed a break. I was running on fumes after a week of double shifts at the site, still trying to balance being a single dad and running a business. But Mark — persistent as always — had that look in his eye, the one that said, “Trust me.” So I gave in.
The wedding venue was elegant — polished floors, flower arrangements taller than my daughter, and guests who looked like they belonged in magazines. I was in my pressed shirt and Emma wore a flower crown that she was far too proud of. As we sat waiting, I glanced around with a tightness in my chest. There was something about weddings that always got to me.
The music shifted. Everyone stood.
And then she appeared.
The bride walked gracefully, her face veiled, her arm locked with an older man’s. She was radiant — there was no denying that — but as she got closer, something about her seemed achingly familiar. Too familiar.
When Stefan lifted the veil, my entire world stopped spinning.
There she was.
