But everything inside me had fallen apart.
The reception was a blur. Guests laughed, clinked glasses, and danced. Lily tugged at my sleeve, asking for cake, and I managed to plaster on a smile for her sake. But every time my eyes found the bride, my heart twisted.
I needed answers.
Finally, when she slipped away toward the garden for air, I followed.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice low but urgent. “Why do you look like her?”
The bride turned slowly, her expression soft but pained.
“My name is Claire,” she whispered. “And I’m not who you think I am.”
“But you—” My voice cracked. “You look exactly like Emily.”
She nodded, glancing down at her bouquet. “I know. Because she was my twin sister.”
