She Walked Down the Aisle in a Veil—But Was She the Bride?
I’ve known Daniel since we were kids. So when he told me he was marrying Celeste, I was thrilled. I’d only met her twice, but he seemed happy. That was enough. On the wedding day, everything looked perfect. Candlelight, orchids, that quiet buzz of anticipation. But the moment Celeste stepped into the church, something twisted in my gut. Her movements were stiff, her dress bunched oddly as she walked. Everyone else saw a nervous bride. But I saw…
I’ve known Daniel since we were kids—back when scraped knees and stolen fruit from his grandmother’s garden were our biggest worries. We grew up, moved cities, built separate lives, and somehow always found our way back to each other. Ours was the kind of friendship that didn’t fade with time or distance.
So when Daniel told me he was getting married, I was thrilled. He’d always joked he was “married to the single life,” but now he was settling down—with a woman named Celeste. I’d only met her twice before the wedding: once at a noisy dinner party, and again briefly at an art gallery opening. She seemed nice, if a little elusive. Always on the go, always someplace else to be. But Daniel adored her, and that was enough for me.
The morning of the wedding, the church looked like something out of a dream. White orchids, warm candlelight, a string quartet playing softly. Daniel stood at the altar, surprisingly calm. His best friend from college, Marcus, stood beside him, beaming. I took my place in the front row, the air humming with quiet anticipation.
