The Witness In The Shadows
526 Words
EDUARDO'S POV
I had no business being near that church.
At least, that’s what my advisor had said that morning.
“Let it go, signore,” he had warned. “She chose another man. That story ended long ago.”
He was wrong.
It never ended.
It simply waited.
Years ago, in New York, at a charity gala hosted by her family, I had seen her — a quiet girl standing alone against a pillar, swirling champagne but never drinking it. She smiled only when no one was looking.
People talked to her, but never saw her.
Everyone noticed her sister. Loud. Charming. Flashy.
But her?
She was soft thunder.
I knew then if I touched her, she would break. If I hurt her, I’d die.
So I stayed away.
But I never forgot.
Every few months, I sent someone to confirm she was still there. Still alive. Still smiling that soft, hidden smile.
Then came the news.
She was to be married.
Not to me.
To another.
And though I had never touched her… something in me splintered.
But I let it happen.
I told myself: If she is happy I will let her go.
So I came today.
Not as a guest.
Not to congratulate.
Just to see.
To confirm whether she truly belonged to him.
I stood leaned against a black Maserati down the street from the church entrance, watching from afar. No one noticed me ,they never do unless I want them to.
Then the doors opened.
What I saw next..
That was not a wedding.
That was a funeral.
She stepped out.
Still in her wedding dress.
Alone.
No groom.
No escort.
No tears at first. Just a numb, hollow expression that made my blood run cold.
She looked like a ghost.
Not weak. Not hysterical.
Empty.
Like someone whose soul had been carved out of her chest by people she trusted.
When she reached the stairs, her bouquet slipped from her fingers.
White petals fell across the ground like snow on a battlefield.
She didn’t even look back.
Her family didn’t chase her.
Her groom didn’t call her name.
No one followed.
They let her go like she was nothing.
I felt something primal and ancient awaken inside me.
Not pity.
Not sympathy.
Possession.
You were a fool to let her go, I thought, staring into the church as the music began for another bride.
But I am not.
She walked down the empty street, barefoot, holding up the heavy dress with one hand so it wouldn’t drag. She stumbled once, catching herself against a lamppost.
The world kept moving as if she didn’t exist.
I slowly straightened up, every vein in my body thrumming with dark purpose.
She would not walk alone.
Not anymore.
I followed her at a distance. Not close enough to alarm her. Not yet.
She didn’t know who I was.
But she would.
I watched her whisper something to herself — a vow only she could hear.
Her shoulders lifted. Her spine straightened. Her chin rose.
She was breaking.
But she was also transforming.
Good.
Let her rage bloom.
I would water it with blood.
- Writer
