My Fiancé Passed Away Before Our Wedding – Three Months Later, His Mother Snuck Into a Bridal Room, so I Followed Her
“Davina,” he whispered.
I backed into the dresser.
“No.”
He took one step forward.
“Don’t come near me.”
He stopped.
Clementine began crying.
I looked from her to Andrew and felt something inside me break open.
The funeral.
The coffin.
The sympathy cards still sitting unopened in my apartment.
The nights when I woke up reaching toward his side of the bed.
I had spent three months learning how to live without him.
And he had been alive.
“You died.”
Andrew lowered his head.
“I know.”
“You died.”
“I can explain.”
My hand shook as I pointed at him.
“I watched them bury you.”
Clementine covered her mouth.
Andrew looked sick.
“That wasn’t me.”
I stared at him.
Nothing made sense.
“Whose body was in that coffin?”
He did not answer quickly enough.
I turned to Clementine.
“You knew.”
She cried harder.
“Davina, I wanted to tell you.”
