My wedding was perfect — until Uncle Jack sprinted toward us, lifted Madeline’s dress in front of everyone, and shouted, “It was you!” My new wife stood frozen in shock as our guests gasped. What secret had my uncle uncovered, and why was he so fixated on Madeline?
I stood at the altar, my heart drumming against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The late September sun painted everything golden, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of lilacs across the vineyard.
It was perfect, almost too perfect. That should’ve been my first clue that something was bound to go sideways.
My best man, Tommy, leaned in close. “Dude, you good? You look like you’re about to pass out.”