---- Chapter 7 As Chloe walked down the aisle, the sun catching the intricate beadwork on her white dress, | was hit by a wave of memory. It was so strong it felt real. | remembered a night, years ago, curled up on our old sofa, a cheap bottle of wine between us. We were designing her wedding dress on a napkin. She wanted something simple, elegant, with lace sleeves. She had drawn a clumsy sketch of us standing under a big oak tree, not a lavish garden. Her laughter had filled our small apartment. Now, she was a stranger in a dress | didn' t recognize, walking toward a man | despised. The contrast was a silent, screaming testament to how far we had drifted apart. Sarah stood alone at the back of the crowd, a solitary figure of grief in a sea of celebration. | drifted near her, a ghost drawn to the only person who shared my sorrow. "I'm the one who introduced them, you know," she murmured under her breath, so quietly no one else could hear. "At a college alumni event. | thought he was just another boring finance guy. | never should have done it. I'm so sorry, Ethan." Her regret was a heavy, tangible thing. | wanted to tell her it wasn' t her fault. That Chloe had made her own choices. | wanted to thank her for being my friend, for being here, for ---- being the only person willing to mourn me today. But | was just silence and memory. The ceremony reached its peak. The officiant smiled warmly. "Do you, Mark Johnson, take Chloe Davis to be your lawfully wedded wife?" "| do," Mark said, his voice booming with confidence. "And do you, Chloe Davis, take Mark Johnson..." The world seemed to hold its breath. In the back, Sarah turned to leave. She couldn' t watch this. She had a funeral to attend. She took one step toward the exit, the gravel crunching softly under her heel. The sound, though quiet, seemed to cut through the air. "Wait." The voice was Chloe' s. It was quiet, but clear and sharp. The officiant paused. Mark turned to her, his confident smile faltering into a look of confusion. The guests murmured. Chloe wasn't looking at Mark. She was looking at the back of the crowd, at Sarah' s retreating figure. "Sarah, wait," she called out again, her voice stronger this time. Sarah stopped, her back still to the altar. ---- Chloe took a shaky breath. She turned to Mark, her face pale. "Mark, |... ' m sorry. | have to... there' s something | have to do. | have to know." "Chloe, what are you talking about?" Mark hissed, grabbing her arm. "The whole world is watching." She pulled her arm away. The gesture was surprisingly strong. "| don't care," she said, her voice trembling. "I have to know if she' s telling the truth." And with that, she lifted the front of her expensive wedding gown and started walking, then running, down the aisle, away from the altar, away from Mark. She ran past the shocked faces of her friends and family, her only goal the dark figure standing at the edge of the garden. She was leaving her own wedding. She was going to my funeral. | watched her go, a storm of confusion in my spectral heart. | looked back at the altar. Mark' s face was a thundercloud of pure fury and public humiliation. The guests were on their feet, their phones out, a cacophony of gasps and whispers filling the perfect garden. The beautiful, perfect day had just shattered into a million pieces.