Chavez, the woman I' d loved for sixty

they t

as standing at the altar, my hands sweating inside my best suit, waiting. My best friend, Andrew Scott, stood beside

he chapel doors, her face a mess of tears.

into her husband' s arms. "There's b

make sense. An accident? Maria w

er father said, his voic

e in this town, just like we did before. We had lived until we were old and gray, and when we died in our sleep, holding hands, I thought it w

ift felt li

lences from neighbors who looked at me with pity. I was the tragic groom, the man who lost his bride on his wedding day. I kept re

a lifetime of devotion just end li

in my garage, staring at the engine of a

s a hand on the Fowler farm, and he looked

t sa

rning, dropping something off for

" The word ta

ng off Sylvia t

y, and she' d died in a suspicious car accident not long after. Wesley was the

fast," I said,

re talking... it was weird. And Sylvia... she didn't

up at Andrew, a cold dread creep

," I said, wiping the

you should ju

ounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The lawn was full of people. Laughter

his arm wrapped around a woman in a bright yellow dress. Her b

and my breath cau

as M

d as she took her last breath

her ear. She looked radiant, happy, and very much alive. The grief tha

e crowd, my eyes lo

e out as a c

flicker of recognition, of shock, in h

ne, replaced by a

oice smooth and unfamiliar.

s Matthew Roberts," he said, his tone dripping with fake sym

d expression. "Oh, you poor thing. I'm so sor

eople around us were starting to whisper, their pity turning to suspicion.

my voice shaking. "You'r

eding to touch her, t

ease, stop," she cried, her voice trembling.

poor, grieving fiancé had lost his mind. He was harass

ard the lady," he said, his voice hard. "Get ou

me. Humiliation burned my cheeks. I looked from M

. And I had walk