The vows and the ghost
That morning, before more than a hundred witnesses, I spoke the vows every bride dreams of—“For better, for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.” And I meant them, or at least I convinced myself I did. I smiled at the man beside me, my husband, seeing only him. Perhaps it was the veil that clouded my sight, or perhaps it was love blinding me. His hands trembled slightly as he slid the ring onto my finger, then lifted the veil from my face. The minister’s voice rang out with authority: “By the power vested in me by the Church and the State, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Joy erupted within me, fierce and uncontainable. “I am married,” I cried silently, my heart nearly bursting. Our lips met for the first time in a kiss—our true first kiss—and I raised my hand high, showing the ring to the sea of faces, my smile brighter than the candles that lit the hall. And then… my eyes locked onto a face I knew too well. “Francis.” His name escaped me in a whisper, and the world shifted. My smile faltered. My maid of honour, quick and perceptive, leaned in with a soft warning: “Keep smiling, love. Don’t worry about anything.” But I couldn’t. My eyes betrayed me, flicking back to Francis. He stood, his gaze heavy, his presence undeniable. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. My body froze, yet I forced a smile, painted and false, my heart splintering beneath the silk and lace. Francis—my Francis—was alive, but no longer mine.
Eight years have passed since that day. I live with a man who loves me deeply, a man who deserves all of me. He knows nothing of Francis, nothing of the storm that nearly broke me at the altar. And yet, not a day passes that I don’t feel the shadow of unanswered questions, the ache of words left unsaid. Why did he return? Why did he leave? I will never know. And perhaps it is better that way. For I am married to a good man, a kind man who cherishes me, and I will not wound him with the ghost of my past. Still, some nights, when silence stretches too wide, I remember the moment our eyes met, and I wonder if destiny played me false. Some loves are not meant to last, and some stories are never meant to be told.