Part 1: The Scar That Shouldn’t Exist
Part 1: The Scar That Shouldn’t Exist
The chapel didn’t move.
Not a sound.
Not a breath.
Even the candles along the aisle seemed to flicker more slowly, as if the room itself had forgotten how to continue.
The bride stood frozen.
Her fingers still clutching the torn lace of her dress.
Victoria Ashford remained on her knees.
The silver bracelet trembled in her hand like it no longer belonged to this world.
“My… daughter,” she repeated again.
But the word sounded foreign in her mouth.
Like something she had lost the right to say long ago.
The groom stepped forward slowly.
“Mom… what are you talking about?”
Victoria didn’t look at him.
She couldn’t.
Her eyes were locked on the bride’s shoulder.
That small star-shaped scar.
A mark she had once traced on a baby’s skin while a hospital room filled with chaos and lies.
The bride’s voice broke.
“I don’t understand… I was told I was adopted at five. That my records were sealed. That my parents—”
May you like
“Were erased,” Victoria whispered.
The word hit the room harder than any scream.
