You know how people say your wedding day is supposed to be the best day of your life? Yeah. That’s a damn lie.

One second, I was standing at the altar, my hands sweaty, and my heart thumping so hard I could feel it in my throat.

The priest was there, the guests were there, my best man was cracking some dumb joke about breathing through my nerves. I was staring at the doors, waiting for them to open. Waiting for Lena.

The next second? Panic.

The music played. The guests shifted in their seats, smiling expectantly.

My mother was beaming from the front row, dabbing at her eyes, probably thinking about grandkids. My father sat still, unreadable, arms crossed over his expensive suit.

Then the music cut off. Whispers rose like a slow-building storm. The doors didn’t open.

A bridesmaid hurried in. No Lena.

My best man leaned over. “Maybe she’s just, you know, having a moment?”

I tried calling. Voicemail. Again. And again.

Someone checked the bridal suite. Empty.

The air in the room turned thick. The officiant cleared his throat. My mother’s smile fell. The guests began looking at each other, murmuring.

I knew Lena wouldn’t do this. She wasn’t the type.

I looked at my dad, only to discover that he was gone, just like that.

I stepped outside, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Maybe she was outside, catching her breath, and trying to calm down. And then I received a photo from my friend at the airport. A photo of my bride!

Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, her small frame swallowed in an oversized jacket—our wedding jacket, the one she was supposed to wear at the reception later that night.

And beside her?

My father.

I went to the airport immediately. It didn’t register at first. It didn’t make sense.

My feet started moving before my brain caught up. I bolted toward the terminal, barely aware of the sound of my own breath, of my heart hammering in my chest.

What the hell is going on?

The glass doors slid open, and I rushed inside. The smell of coffee, disinfectant, and the faint scent of someone’s cologne hit me all at once.

People moved past me, dragging suitcases, hugging loved ones, and others staring at flight screens.

I didn’t care about any of it. I needed to stop them.

They were heading toward the gate. My pulse spiked as I ran harder.

A uniformed officer stepped in front of me. “Ticket, sir?”

I almost crashed into him.

“I just need to—” I pointed, my chest rising and falling fast. “My fiancée is boarding that plane. With my father.”

The officer didn’t budge. His expression stayed flat, uninterested. “Ticket, sir.”