His Dead Wife's Twin

Chapter 5

Elena changes her dress with my help, both of us bent over sequins and safety pins and giggles that come a little too easy. She looks stunning, glittering velvet wrapped around her, making her shine bright like stars

She smiles when she is ushered in, takes her seat beside Noah where she belongs.

The MC gushes about how beautiful the night is, introduces our parents as if no one in the room has ever met them. My mom and Noah’s mom smile at each other like they haven’t spent the past year trading polite venom and passive-aggressive digs over table linen. I watch it all with my hands folded neatly in my lap.

Peter gives his speech. It’s charming, funny, just tipsy enough to get away with it. The room laughs. Cheers. The cake is cut. My face hurts from holding a smile. I keep counting minutes. Counting until it is over.

Then comes the dancing.

I dance with Peter. He moves with an infectious energy, the kind that demands attention in a dimly lit room. He laughs often, holds my waist like he’s done it a million times, and I shift slightly, concealing my discomfort. I don’t hate Peter. He’s kind. He’s fun. But I know this won’t work, and I won’t let him hold onto something that isn’t there. I’ll let him down easy.

Later, I dance with Elena. She grabs my hand and we spin like we are five again, like nothing has changed. Across the room, Noah dances with our mom, making her beam and even giggle. She thinks Noah is the perfect son-in-law. She’s probably right. I’ve never seen her look at Dad that way.

“You okay?” Elena asks, breathless, eyes shining.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I say. “I can’t believe you’re married.”

We squeeze hands, squeal like teenagers. I smile like it is carved into me. “Now you’re Mrs. Spark.”

“I’m keeping my name,” she grins. “It’s Mrs. Elena Morales Spark.”

She squeals again, and God, her joy is infectious. For a second, I feel lighter. Maybe this isn’t my happy ending. But everyone else is happy. That has to be enough.

Right?

My eyes betray me. They find Noah laughing now, twirling his mother like she is the bride.

“You’re so lucky, Elena,” I say.

She turns, radiant, mischief dancing in her smile. “He’s the lucky one.”

We both laugh. For her, it is the best day of her life. The one she’ll remember forever.

For me? It is just the end of a long, aching day. And I’m glad it is finally over.

I wave with the rest as the bride and groom pull away, glittering in the headlights, everyone shouting blessings into the night. Happy marriage. Beautiful couple. Perfect day.

I whisper the words like a spell, then let them die on my lips.

Peter catches me just before I reach the car. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.

I smile. Nod. He’s offered to drive me, but I tell him I’m going with my parents. He doesn’t push. He’s sweet. Charming.

But my heart doesn’t pull toward him.

Just like Noah’s never pulls toward me.

I guess we don’t get to choose who we love.