“Savannah was a quiet light,” Miles began, his eyes scanning the tearful faces in the congregation. “A gentle soul who brought warmth to every room she entered. The loss of her, and of our future, is a burden I will carry for the rest of my days…”

The double oak doors at the back of the cathedral creaked open.

A wet breeze swept into the sanctuary, fluttering the flames of the altar candles.

The heavy, rhythmic sound of heels against polished marble echoed through the silent church.

Miles stopped mid-sentence. A few people in the back rows turned around to see who had arrived late. Then more turned. A soft gasp rippled through the pews, rising in volume like a sudden wind before settling into a suffocating, absolute silence.

Savannah walked down the center aisle.

She wore a long, tailored beige trench coat, unbuttoned to reveal her full, eight-month pregnancy bump. Her dark hair was styled neatly, her skin pale but clear, and her blue eyes locked directly onto the man standing at the pulpit.

Miles froze. The paper in his hands fluttered to the floor. His face drained of all color, shifting from calculated grief to absolute, unadulterated terror. Besided him, Vanessa gripped the wooden pew so hard her knuckles turned stark white, her mouth opening in a silent scream that refused to make a sound.

Savannah stopped at the head of the aisle, just steps from the altar, right in front of her own framed photograph. She looked at the picture, then turned her gaze to her husband.

“You dropped your speech, Miles,” Savannah said, her voice clear, steady, and carrying effortlessly into every corner of the silent sanctuary. “Don’t stop on my account. I’d love to hear what else you have to say about our future.”