This isn’t something I can tell the people around me, so I have to use the anonymity of the internet for it. You can call me Paige. I’m 28, and just a few months ago, I was the picture-perfect bride.

But my soulmate, whom you may call Damian, died after we said I do. They say life flashes before your eyes when you’re going to die, but our entire relationship flashed before mine as I saw him drop to the ground.

Damian and I met at a small café where I used to work part-time. He was one of those quiet, polite customers who always tipped well and read a book while drinking coffee.

I’d had a crush on him since I first saw him. But when he asked me out, I was shocked. He was gorgeous with his sharp cheekbones, warm hazel eyes, and quiet confidence.

I was just an average girl from a lower middle-class family, so I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. But he was, and from our first date walking on a local pier, it felt like we were meant to be.

Just a year later, we were standing at the altar in front of our closest friends. It was the happiest day of my life. Damian couldn’t stop smiling at me as I cried while reading my vows. We were about to start the next amazing chapter of our lives together.

But that dream ended abruptly. Before the reception, while taking some pictures with friends, Damian suddenly collapsed. At first, I thought he was joking. But when he didn’t get up, I froze.

People surrounded him, and someone called 911. The paramedics worked on him right there on the dance floor, but nothing they did worked.

They rushed him to the hospital, and I followed them in a daze. A doctor came out hours later, his face grim, and told me Damian didn’t make it. They said it was a heart attack. He was only 32 years old. How does a healthy man just die like that?

I could barely hold myself together the following days. It was all a blur until the funeral when his family showed up. I’d only met them once before, and that one meeting was enough.

Damian had warned me about them but hadn’t told me everything. His adoptive parents were snobbish and controlling. But one of Damian’s friends, Adam, confessed to me that they were also filthy rich.

“Damian didn’t tell you about his family’s wealth because he didn’t want it to affect how you saw him,” he said in a low voice.

I honestly never knew despite him telling me he had a successful business. Yet, it made sense. That also had to be why they didn’t approve of our relationship. I wasn’t from the “right” kind of family and Damian hadn’t invited them to our wedding.

But now they were here and spent the entire service throwing daggers at me with their eyes. I overheard his mother whisper to someone, “She was probably after his money and caused his death. Get our lawyer on the phone.”

I wanted to yell that I didn’t even know Damian had a lot of money, let alone want it. But what good would it do? They’d already made up their minds about me, and I just didn’t have the energy to fight anyone.

***

Three days after the funeral, I couldn’t take the grief and the emptiness anymore. My apartment felt suffocating as every corner held a memory of Damian.

The sadness was overwhelming and was giving me strange thoughts. On top of that, his family had started to call me. I never answered, but their voice messages were terrifying.

I needed to get away, so I threw some clothes into a small suitcase, grabbed my passport, and called a taxi. My plan wasn’t fully formed. I just knew I had to leave the city or country. Maybe I’d go to Mexico or Aruba. Anywhere that wasn’t here.

When the taxi pulled up, I climbed into the backseat and stared out the window. I barely noticed the driver as I settled into the leather and tried to breathe deeply.

“Fasten your seatbelt, please,” the driver suddenly said.

I froze. My chest tightened, and my heart started pounding. That voice was Damian’s. I whipped my head around and focused on the rearview mirror. Those eyes. Those unmistakable hazel eyes.

“Damian?” I croaked. “But…? How? How are you here? What?”

My words made no sense, but suddenly, he swerved the car away from the road toward the highway and parked on a quiet street. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

I could see his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly like he was bracing himself for something. Then he turned around and looked right at me.

“I’m sorry, Paige,” he said softly without any preamble. “I know this is a lot to take in. I’ll explain everything. Please don’t hate me.”

I sat with wide eyes and an open mouth for the entirety of Damian’s explanation. It was too much to believe.