The wedding ring felt like a shackle, cold and suffocating on my finger. I stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, surrounded by strangers applauding a lie. Across the room, Daniel sat in his wheelchair, face half-hidden behind a surgical mask, eyes unreadable. I hadn’t spoken to him all evening. Not since the priest declared us man and wife.

Then my phone buzzed. A message from Grant: You don’t have to do this alone.

My breath caught. I typed back, hands trembling: He’s nothing like you. You’re kind. He’s a ghost.

Silence. Then: What if I told you I know him better than anyone? Because I am him.

I looked up, heart hammering. Daniel was staring right at me, his hand rising slowly to remove the mask. The scars ran deep—jagged, red, brutal—but his gaze held something I’d only ever seen in Grant: sorrow, and hope.