Wrong Marriage. Right Bride

The bride—beautiful, poised, chosen for all the right reasons—would be standing at the altar, her fingers curled around a bouquet she no longer felt. A strangled, panicked sound forced itself through the tape over his mouth, vibrating against the adhesive like something trying to claw its way out. The truck passed beneath the academy’s stone archway. Her eyes were wide open—glassy, bulging, frozen forever in a final, silent scream of terror.