and friends who genuinely believed they were here to celebrate a lifetime of love and success.

Eleanor stood center stage at the podium, looking ethereal in a custom cream silk gown. She dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. To her left, Preston stood tall in a tailored suit, looking appropriately solemn yet ready for the crown. Harper sat in the front row, wearing a soft, emerald-green dress that subtly accentuated her fake pregnancy.
And standing just to the right of the podium, looking righteous and serene in his clerical collar, was Reverend Marcus Thorne.
As I walked down the center aisle, the crowd rose to their feet, offering a standing ovation. I smiled, nodding to old friends, shaking hands, playing the benevolent king taking his final lap.
I climbed the steps to the stage. Eleanor rushed forward, wrapping me in an embrace.
“You look wonderful, my love,” she whispered