The ceremony began at sunset.

  Glass walls framed the ocean, the water darkening as the sky surrendered its last light. White roses lined the aisle. Candle flames trembled gently in the conditioned air. A quartet played near the terrace.

  Sara stepped forward in an ivory gown, the fabric trailing cleanly behind her. Guests rose in unison.

  At the altar, Jake stood in a tailored black tuxedo. He adjusted his cufflinks once, then leaned slightly toward her as she approached.

  A brief memory brushed past—

  A quiet room weeks earlier.

  Jake standing near the window.

  “We’re getting married,” he had said. “It’s the right decision.”

  Sara had held his gaze a moment longer than necessary.

  The present returned.

  The rear doors opened.

  A man entered.

  Dark suit. No tie.

  He walked down the aisle without hurry.

  Jake saw him.

  A pause — quick, nearly invisible.

  “You came,” Jake said, stepping down from the platform. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

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  “I wasn’t sure either.”

  Rain against pavement.

  A streetlight flickering in the dark.

  The two of them standing several feet apart.

  Jake’s voice through the downpour:

  “You were never meant to stand beside her.”

  Water ran along the curb.

  The present snapped back.

  “To new beginnings,” Jake said lightly.

  “So this is one.”

  “It is.”

  The man slipped his hand into his coat.

  The first gunshot shattered the upper glass panel behind the altar.

  As the impact struck, a voice surfaced inside Jake’s mind—

  “You are always right.”

  The second shot followed.

  Then the third.

  The quartet stopped.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  Jake staggered backward, breath shortening.

  The man stepped closer.

  “Were you right about this too?”

  Jake’s body collided with the floral arch and fell to the marble floor. White petals scattered across black fabric.

  Screams tore through the hall. Chairs overturned. Guests ran.

  Sara moved forward.

  “Why?” she said.

  The man looked at her.

  “Take care of yourself.”

  A narrow hallway surfaced briefly—

  A younger version of him standing near a doorway, a small bag at his feet.

  Sara a few steps away.

  “You’ll come back?”

  Silence.

  Then her voice, softer.

  “Take care of yourself.”

  The present returned.

  He turned and walked out.

  —

  Jake lay beneath the scattered roses.

  Sound dulled.

  Light thinned.

  A final voice reached him through the narrowing dark—

  “People like you always rule.”

  The ocean beyond the shattered glass remained still.

  —

  Hospital light replaced candlelight.

  A steady monitor traced thin green lines across a screen.

  Sara opened her eyes.

  “You fainted,” the doctor said. “You’re stable.”

  A knock at the door.

  Two officers entered. A man followed — dark suit, measured steps. He paused near the window before moving closer.

  “Miss Sara,” he said. “Detective Homes.”

  He observed the IV line before looking at her.

  “Your fiancé, Jake Morrison, was declared dead at the scene.”

  A pause.

  “Did you recognize the shooter?”

  Sara’s fingers tightened against the blanket.

  “Take your time,” he added.

  “He…” she began.

  Silence filled the room.

  “He is my son.”

  Detective Homes’ pen touched paper.

  Outside the hospital window, city lights reflected across dark water.

  Inside the room, no one spoke.

  And somewhere beyond the shoreline, the rain from years ago had never really stopped.