William stood frozen at the altar, his hand still gripping Sophie’s. He blinked, convinced the “Imposter Syndrome” of the season was manifesting a hallucination. But the woman didn’t vanish. She stood there, breathing, blinking, real.
The world tilted on its axis. The joy of the wedding, the vows to Sophie, the “cure” for his grief–it all disintegrated in a single heartbeat.
William dropped Sophie’s hand.
He didn’t look at his new wife. He didn’t check on his grandmother. He simply moved. He sprinted down the white runner, his tuxedo jacket flying open, tears instantly flooding his eyes.
“Victoria!”
The scream tore from his throat, raw and guttural, echoing off the glass ceiling. He ran toward her like a man dying of thirst running toward water, his arms reaching out to grab the miracle that had returned from the grave.