My Fiancé Passed Away Before Our Wedding – Three Months Later, His Mother Snuck Into a Bridal Room, so I Followed Her
He stopped in the doorway.
Everything inside me went silent.
Three months of grief disappeared for one horrible second.
Then it came rushing back so violently that my knees weakened.
Andrew was alive.
The man I had buried was standing six feet away from me.
“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.”
