Shattered Illusion
I lingered in shadow, watching Lia approach Mark down the aisle. Closer. Mark’s expression sharpened. Lips curved mechanically—the groom’s requisite joy. But his eyes. Devoid of delight or fervor—only desolate dread… and fear? Fear of Lia uncovering truth? Or fear of his own irreparable deceit? Lia reached him. She gazed up, adoration and trust overflowing. Mark took her hand. Trembling faintly? The officiant began vows. Sacred. Solemn. All eyes fixed. Including mine. Mark’s throat convulsed. Lips parted. Silence. Lia’s smile cracked minutely. Confusion flickered. The officiant waited, repeated firmly: "Mark, will you take Lia as your wife?" Mark jolted. Burned. He raised his head. Eyes locked onto mine in the shadows.
I held his gaze. As if saying: See your choice. He understood. Lips moved. Whispering, brittle: "I… I wi—" Before "will" fully formed. "Gag—" Violent, unstifled retching cut him off. Lia clamped a hand over her mouth. Face blanched. Eyes wide with horror, she swayed. "Lia?!" Mark caught her instinctively—voice panicked. Lia jerked back. Tears, snot streaking her face. Her stare—terrified, wounded, piercingly sharp—lasered at me.
The "Sister Amy" she revered, trusted, invited as bridesmaid. In one instant, scattered cues aligned—Mark’s strangeness, my calm, unanswered hints, the invitation’s ignored surname familiarity (Amy Li? Mark Lee?), even traces on Mark’s computer. Eyes pinned on me. Lips quivered. Silent. Only that stare, unblinking. Then she whirled, snatched a champagne flute from a groomsman. Whoosh—! Full glass hurled onto Mark’s face. Golden liquid streamed through styled hair, down stunned cheeks, over crisp tux. Disgraceful. "Liar!" Lia’s shriek shattered the stillness. Cup discarded, heedless of Mark or me, she hauled her heavy skirt—stumbling away. White gown flashed blindingly in sunlight. Left chaos, stunned faces.
Phone Buzz
I stood motionless. End of the aisle. Shadowed. The silent spectator of absurdity’s climax. Sunlight warmed my haze-blue gown. Chilled. The lawn erupted—gasps, murmurs, questions rising like tides. Mark stood drenched. Blank-faced. Spirit doused. He turned slowly. Painfully. Met my gaze again. Eyes hollow—twin voids. I didn’t move. Expressionless. My pocket buzzed faintly. I retrieved the phone. Screen lit. Lia’s message. A single line. A question. Sunlight glaring, it scorched: "Happy now? Bridesmaid sister."
I lingered in shadow, watching Lia approach Mark down the aisle. Closer. Mark’s expression sharpened. Lips curved mechanically—the groom’s requisite joy. But his eyes. Devoid of delight or fervor—only desolate dread… and fear? Fear of Lia uncovering truth? Or fear of his own irreparable deceit? Lia reached him. She gazed up, adoration and trust overflowing. Mark took her hand. Trembling faintly? The officiant began vows. Sacred. Solemn. All eyes fixed. Including mine. Mark’s throat convulsed. Lips parted. Silence. Lia’s smile cracked minutely. Confusion flickered. The officiant waited, repeated firmly: "Mark, will you take Lia as your wife?" Mark jolted. Burned. He raised his head. Eyes locked onto mine in the shadows.
I held his gaze. As if saying: See your choice. He understood. Lips moved. Whispering, brittle: "I… I wi—" Before "will" fully formed. "Gag—" Violent, unstifled retching cut him off. Lia clamped a hand over her mouth. Face blanched. Eyes wide with horror, she swayed. "Lia?!" Mark caught her instinctively—voice panicked. Lia jerked back. Tears, snot streaking her face. Her stare—terrified, wounded, piercingly sharp—lasered at me.
The "Sister Amy" she revered, trusted, invited as bridesmaid. In one instant, scattered cues aligned—Mark’s strangeness, my calm, unanswered hints, the invitation’s ignored surname familiarity (Amy Li? Mark Lee?), even traces on Mark’s computer. Eyes pinned on me. Lips quivered. Silent. Only that stare, unblinking. Then she whirled, snatched a champagne flute from a groomsman. Whoosh—! Full glass hurled onto Mark’s face. Golden liquid streamed through styled hair, down stunned cheeks, over crisp tux. Disgraceful. "Liar!" Lia’s shriek shattered the stillness. Cup discarded, heedless of Mark or me, she hauled her heavy skirt—stumbling away. White gown flashed blindingly in sunlight. Left chaos, stunned faces.
Phone Buzz
I stood motionless. End of the aisle. Shadowed. The silent spectator of absurdity’s climax. Sunlight warmed my haze-blue gown. Chilled. The lawn erupted—gasps, murmurs, questions rising like tides. Mark stood drenched. Blank-faced. Spirit doused. He turned slowly. Painfully. Met my gaze again. Eyes hollow—twin voids. I didn’t move. Expressionless. My pocket buzzed faintly. I retrieved the phone. Screen lit. Lia’s message. A single line. A question. Sunlight glaring, it scorched: "Happy now? Bridesmaid sister."
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