The chapel was bathed in the soft glow of spring sunlight, the stained-glass windows casting gentle colors across rows of polished wooden pews. White roses lined the aisle, filling the air with their sweet fragrance, while a string quartet played a delicate melody. Guests sat quietly, dressed in pastels, their eyes fixed on the altar as the ceremony began.
I stood at the front in my suit, nerves flickering as I adjusted my cufflinks. To my left was my best man, Mike, but the most important presence beside me was Leo, my nine-year-old nephew, holding the small velvet box with our wedding rings.
Leo had faced challenges that would have shaken many. Years ago, he survived a vicious dog attack, leaving scars across his cheek and arm. But his spirit never wavered. That day, dressed in his little tuxedo, he stood proudly, radiating courage despite the whispers and stares he sometimes faced. My sister Sophie, a devoted single mother who had raised him with tireless care, sat in the front row, tears shimmering in her eyes as she watched her son being celebrated rather than hidden.
The music swelled, and Emily, my bride, appeared at the back of the aisle in her radiant white gown. My chest tightened at the sight of her steady approach. But before she reached me, her parents, Patricia and Gerald, made urgent, almost frantic gestures. Their smiles had vanished, replaced by stern expressions.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
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