Chapter 2: The Ghost In The Wedding Suit
For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
The human mind has a strange way of protecting itself from impossible things.
It searches for explanations.
A stranger who looks similar.
A cruel coincidence.
A person standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Anything except the truth.
But there was no explanation.
Not when Weston looked directly at me.
Not when his eyes widened the exact same way they used to when I surprised him.
Not when his left hand reached up and touched the small scar above his eyebrow—the same nervous habit he had carried since childhood.
It was him.
The man I buried was standing in front of me.
Alive.
“Juniper?””
His voice broke through the silence.
I stared at him.
The wedding hall disappeared.
The flowers disappeared.
The people walking behind him disappeared.
All I could see was the man who had left me standing beside a grave three months earlier.
The man who had made me cry until I couldn’t recognize myself.
The man who was supposed to be dead.
“You’re alive,” I whispered.
Weston’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Not happiness.
Something worse.
Panic.
He looked over his shoulder.
The woman beside him noticed.
“Weston?”” she asked softly.
Her voice was gentle.
Familiar in a way that made my stomach twist.
She tightened her grip on his arm.
“Who is she?””
I looked at her.
She was beautiful.
Dark hair pulled into a loose bun. A simple white dress. A diamond ring on her left hand.
A bride.
Weston looked at her, then back at me.
And that small movement hurt more than anything else.
Because it told me he knew exactly who I was.
“Juniper,” he said quietly.
I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes pain becomes too large for tears.
“Wow.””
My voice shook.
“That’s all you have?””
He stepped forward.
I stepped back.
“Don’t.””
The word came out sharper than I expected.
Weston froze.
The woman beside him looked between us.
“Weston, what is happening?””
He didn’t answer.
That made everything worse.
Because three months ago, I had begged the universe for one more conversation with him.
One more chance to tell him I loved him.
One more chance to say goodbye.
Now he was standing in front of me, and he had nothing to say.
The coordinator looked uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Hale?””
Marlene immediately stepped between us.
“Everyone needs to leave this hallway.””
I looked at her.
My chest tightened.
“You knew.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Juniper—”
“You knew.””
The second time I said it, my voice cracked.
Marlene looked down.
That was the answer.
She knew.
Weston knew.
They both knew.
The only person who didn’t know was me.
The woman beside Weston took a step forward.
“I think someone needs to explain what’s happening.””
I looked at her.
“What’s your name?””
She hesitated.
“Claire.””
Claire.
The name felt like something sharp.
“Claire, did you know Weston was engaged?””
Her face went pale.
Weston immediately spoke.
“Juniper, stop.””
I turned toward him.
“Stop?””
My voice rose.
“You died.””
The hallway went silent.
Claire looked at Weston.
“What did she mean?””
Weston closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
Regret.
And somehow, that made me angrier.
Because regret meant he understood what he had done.
“You let me bury you,” I said.
His jaw tightened.
“I know.””
“You let me stand beside your mother while they lowered an empty box into the ground.””
His expression broke.
“Juniper—”
“No.””
My hands started shaking.
I hated that.
I hated that even now, even after everything, my body still reacted to him like he was someone I loved.
Because he was.
Or he had been.
“I thought you were dead.””
“I know.””
“You know?””
I stared at him.
“You know what that feels like?””
He looked away.
That was the first time I saw something besides fear.
Shame.
Good.
At least he felt something.
Claire stepped backward.
“I need to understand.””
Nobody answered.
She looked at Weston.
“Who is she?””
The silence was unbearable.
Finally, Weston said:
“She was my fiancée.””
The words hit the room like a glass breaking.
Claire looked at me.
Then at him.
“You were engaged?””
Weston swallowed.
“Yes.””
Her face changed.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Confusion.
Like she was trying to put together a puzzle where half the pieces had been hidden from her.
“When?””
“Before…”
He stopped.
Before what?
Before he died?
Before he disappeared?
Before he decided another woman deserved the truth more than me?
I almost laughed again.
Marlene touched Weston’s arm.
“Not here.””
I looked at her.
“Where, then?””
Nobody spoke.
“Where exactly were you planning to tell me that my dead fiancé was alive?””
My voice echoed.
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
Too bright.
Too normal.
People outside were laughing.
Someone was testing music for the reception.
A waiter walked past carrying champagne.
And inside this hallway, my entire life was falling apart again.
Weston looked at me.
“I need to explain.””
“You had three months.””
His face tightened.
“I couldn’t.””
“You couldn’t?””
I stepped closer.
“You couldn’t pick up a phone?””
“No.””
“You couldn’t send a message?””
“No.””
“You couldn’t stop me from grieving someone who was breathing?””
His eyes filled.
“I thought it was the only way.””
I stared at him.
“The only way to do what?””
He didn’t answer.
That silence told me there was a story.
A reason.
Something.
But reasons did not bring back the nights I spent crying on the bathroom floor.
Reasons did not erase the funeral.
Reasons did not explain why I had been allowed to believe I lost the love of my life.
Claire looked at Weston.
“I’m going to ask one more time.””
Her voice was quieter now.
“Why did you tell me you had no one?””
Weston looked at her.
And I watched the guilt move across his face.
Because that was the moment I realized something.
Claire wasn’t just another woman.
She had been lied to too.
“I didn’t know what to tell you,” he said.
Claire shook her head.
“No.””
She looked at him carefully.
“You knew exactly what you were doing.””
Then she walked away.
Weston immediately moved after her.
“Claire.””
I watched him hesitate.
And that hesitation hurt in a completely different way.
Because some part of me—the stupid, broken part that still loved him—wanted him to choose me.
Even after everything.
Even after he destroyed me.
I hated myself for that.
Weston turned back.
“I’m sorry.””
I looked at him.
Three months ago, I would have given anything to hear those words.
Now they felt empty.
“You’re sorry?””
“Yes.””
“For what?””
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I nodded slowly.
“That’s what I thought.””
I picked up my flower tray from the table beside me.
My hands were trembling so badly that several rose petals fell onto the floor.
Weston looked down at them.
White roses.
The same flowers I had chosen for our wedding.
His face changed.
For the first time, he looked devastated.
“Juniper…”
I walked past him.
I didn’t run.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly he had hurt me.
But when I reached the lobby, my legs almost gave out.
Clara found me near the entrance.
She had been calling my name for several seconds.
“Juniper, what happened?””
I couldn’t answer.
She looked past me.
Then she saw Weston standing in the hallway.
Her face went pale.
“Is that…”
I nodded.
Clara covered her mouth.
“No.””
I stared through the glass doors at the wedding decorations.
At the flowers.
At the perfect arrangement I had spent hours creating.
A wedding that belonged to someone else.
A wedding that belonged to the man I had mourned.
“I buried him,” I whispered.
Clara grabbed my hand.
“I know.””
“No, you don’t.””
My voice broke.
“I watched them bury him.””
A tear finally slipped down my face.
“He was dead.””
Behind us, the music started playing.
The first notes of a wedding song floated through the room.
And then my phone buzzed.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
One message.
My blood turned cold as I read it.
*If you want the truth about Weston, meet me before the ceremony starts. Come alone.*
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then another message appeared.
*Because Weston Hale was never in that car accident.*
