I recognized it as the groom's preparation room.
She looked over her shoulder before entering.
Then the door closed behind her.
I don't know why I followed.
Maybe because I was curious.
Maybe because some part of me already knew.
Maybe grief had sharpened my instincts in ways I didn't understand.
I walked slowly toward the door.
It wasn't completely closed.
I could hear voices inside.
Colleen was speaking.
Her tone sounded anxious.
“You need to hurry. The ceremony starts in twenty minutes.”
Then another voice answered.
A man's voice.
A voice I knew better than my own.
A voice I had heard every morning.
A voice that used to complain when I stole the blankets.
A voice that had once argued with me for twenty minutes about whether vanilla or chocolate cake was better.
A voice that had said “I love you” so many times that I never imagined there would be a day when I wouldn't hear it again.
My entire body went cold.
I stopped breathing.
My hand went to my mouth.
Slowly, I leaned toward the opening.
And there he was.
Adrian.
Alive.
Standing in front of a mirror.
Wearing a suit.
The exact same suit he had bought for our wedding.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
My brain refused to process what my eyes were seeing.
Then everything came rushing back.
The accident.
The funeral.
The closed casket.
Colleen crying.
The flowers.
The grave.
The prayers.
The endless nights.
The days I had spent staring at a wall because I couldn't figure out how to make myself care about anything.
He had been alive.
The entire time.
I stumbled backward.
My knees nearly gave out.
I turned and ran.
I barely remembered reaching the bathroom.
I locked myself inside a stall and collapsed.