Five years after losing my wife Natalie, I took our daughter Emma to my best friend Stefan’s wedding. But when he lifted the bride’s veil, I froze — it was Natalie, alive.
We’d fallen in love years ago, despite her wealthy family’s disapproval. After Emma was born, Natalie grew distant, frustrated by our modest life. One day, she vanished, leaving only a note and signing away her rights. Months later, her parents told me she had died in a car crash.
I grieved for years, raising Emma alone. Life moved on — until I saw her again at the altar with Stefan.
“I thought she was dead,” I whispered. She admitted her father faked her death so she could start over. Stefan, shocked, called off the wedding.
Later, over drinks, Stefan said, “She fooled everyone.” But I finally felt peace.
As I looked at Emma, I realized — I wasn’t broken anymore. I had built a beautiful life from the ashes. And now, I was finally free.
