Alive At My Husbands Wedding

Summary

The new intern at the office handed me a thick, cream-colored envelope embossed with gold foil. A wedding invitation.

I opened it with the distracted air of a busy executive, my mind already drifting to the afternoon's quarterly projections. But as my eyes snagged on the groom’s name, the air left my lungs.

Killian.

My fingers went rigid. Killian. That was my husband’s name.

I forced a brittle smile, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It’s a common enough name, I told myself. A coincidence. A cruel, statistical anomaly. The world was full of men named Killian.