And in the quiet moments, I daydreamed about the future with my Thomas. I knew it wouldn’t be perfect — he could be stubborn, avoided hard conversations until they cornered him, and let his family pull him around more than he should have.
Still, I thought I knew him well enough that we’d be able to overcome every challenge we faced.
I was wrong, but I didn’t know it until my wedding day.
On the wedding day, I stood in the little room off to the side with my father, listening to the organ and the low hum of guests finding their seats.
“You look beautiful, Ellie.”
“Don’t cry before we even get out there,” I said.
Then the doors opened, the music changed, and I stepped into the aisle.
The light poured through the glass in ribbons and settled over everyone I loved.
And at the front of the church — an empty space where Thomas should have been.
At first, I thought he was late by a minute, maybe two. Something simple.
The priest murmured to someone near the front.
My father stiffened beside me.
Then the whispering started.
I stood there smiling for far too long because I did not know what else to do.
Finally, I whispered, “Where is he?”
No one answered me.
My mother came up the aisle toward me, her face too solemn.
