Then, his eyes scanned the front rows. He was looking for me. He wanted to feed off my misery.
When his eyes locked onto my emerald dress, his smile widened, dripping with satisfaction. I knew you’d come, his eyes seemed to say.
But I didn’t flinch. I simply tilted my head and shifted my posture slightly, uncovering the three children sitting right beside me.
Ryan’s gaze followed mine.
I watched the exact millisecond his brain stopped functioning. The smug smile on his face didn’t just fade; it froze, turning into a horrific, distorted mask. His chest stopped moving as he forgot to breathe.
Liam chose that exact moment to lean forward, looking at the altar. “Mommy,” he piped up, his voice carrying clearly through the acoustics of the quiet church. “That man looks just like the mirror.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ryan took a half-step forward, completely breaking protocol. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, locked onto the three identical faces that were staring back at him with his own slate-blue eyes. His hands began to visibly tremble at his sides. He looked at me, his lips moving, forming the word, No.
I met his gaze, allowed a cold, vicious smile to spread across my face, and slowly raised my eyebrows. Yes, Ryan. Yes.
The best man, Ryan’s cousin Julian, noticed Ryan’s sudden paralysis and looked over at our pew. Julian let out an audible, sharp intake of air, his eyes darting between Ryan and the triplets.
Just then, the heavy doors at the back of the cathedral swung open.
The wedding march reached its crescendo. Madison Pierce stood at the entrance, a vision in layers of tulle, French lace, and a veil that trailed ten feet behind her. She looked stunning, a perfect trophy bride for a man who demanded perfection.
Holding her father’s arm, she began her slow, graceful walk down the aisle, beaming at the guests.
But as she advanced, she began to realize something was deeply wrong. The guests weren’t looking at her. They were whispering furiously, their heads turned toward the front row where I sat. Even the wedding photographer’s lens seemed to drift away from the bride, snapping rapid-fire photos of my children.
Madison’s smile faltered. She looked up at the altar, expecting to find comfort in her husband-to-be’s eyes.
Instead, she saw Ryan staring blankly at the front pew, pale as a ghost, sweat actively dripping down his temple. He wasn’t even looking in her direction.
When Madison finally reached the altar, her father handed her over, but Ryan didn’t take her hand. He couldn’t. His arms were stiff, his knuckles white.
“Ryan?” Madison whispered fiercely under her breath, trying to maintain her radiant smile for the cameras. “Ryan, what is wrong with you? Take my hand!”
Ryan didn’t move. He was staring at Liam, who was currently playing with the button on his mini-tuxedo.
Following her fiancé’s catatonic gaze, Madison turned her head slowly toward our pew. Her eyes scanned me first, flashing with instantaneous, burning hatred. But then, her gaze dropped.
She saw the boys. She saw Ella.
She saw the undeniable, irrefutable evidence of Ryan’s genetics multiplied by three. The resemblance was so uncanny, so striking, that it required no explanation, no DNA test, no introduction.
The bouquet of white orchids and lilies in Madison’s hands began to shake. The delicate lace of her bodice rose and fell with her ragged breathing.
“Who… who are they?” Madison hissed, her voice cracking, abandoning all pretense of the perfect, poised bride. She turned to Ryan, her eyes wild. “Ryan! Who are those children?!”
The priest cleared his throat, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”
“Shut up!” Madison snapped at the priest, her face flushing a deep, angry crimson. She whipped back around to face Ryan, her veil shifting violently. “Ryan Caldwell, you look at me right now! Why do those kids have your face?!”
