Five years had passed since I lost my wife—or so I thought. When my best friend invited me to his wedding, I never imagined I’d come face-to-face with the woman who had abandoned me and our daughter.
The day started like any other. My daughter, Emma, now five years old, twirled in her flower girl dress as we prepared for Alex’s seaside wedding. She looked so much like her mother—same bright eyes, same infectious smile.
As we took our seats on the beach, I felt a strange unease. The bride walked down the aisle, her face hidden behind a lace veil. When Alex lifted it, my breath caught in my throat.
It was Lena.
My dead wife.
Emma tugged my sleeve. “Daddy, why are you crying?”
I couldn’t answer. My entire body went numb as Lena’s eyes met mine—wide with shock. Then she turned and ran.
Later, in a quiet hallway, the truth spilled out. Her wealthy family had helped her fake her death to escape our marriage. She’d signed away her rights to Emma without hesitation. And now, she’d been planning to marry my best friend without either of us knowing.
Alex called off the wedding. Lena disappeared again, this time for good.
Walking away that day, I realized something: I wasn’t mourning Lena anymore. I was finally free.