Across the room, the wedding moved like a warm movie scene: glasses clinking, couples swaying, friends calling each other by nicknames they’d had since high school. The DJ’s voice rose and fell with practiced cheer, guiding everyone from one happy moment to the next.
Ethan watched it all through an invisible wall.
For illustrative purposes only
It had been nearly four years since his wife, Clara, had died from a sudden medical emergency that made no sense to his heart, no matter how many times the doctors explained it. With her went the familiar rhythm of his life—the morning coffee she always made too strong, the way she talked to the dog like it was a tiny professor, the quiet certainty that someone would always be waiting for him at home.
Since then, Ethan had learned a pattern for events like this: arrive, congratulate, sign the guestbook, smile enough to seem okay, then leave before the loneliness got loud.
He curled his fingers around his car keys under the table.
Just a few more minutes, he told himself. Then he could slip out. No one would even notice.
Three Identical Ribbons
“Excuse me, sir.”
Ethan looked up, expecting a server or a guest asking where the restroom was.
