Everything stopped.
Then his body gave out.
Completely.
His weight sagged against my boot before slipping sideways, collapsing into the dirt with a heavy, final thud.
Still. Silent. Dead.
I stood there, breathing hard.
Waiting.
For something. Anything.
Relief. Satisfaction. Closure.
Nothing came.
Only quiet. Only the wind.
Only the absence of a man who had never deserved to exist this long.
Slowly, I pulled the blade free.
It came out with resistance—a wet, dragging sound that lingered in the air longer than it should have.
I stepped back.
My shirt clung to me, heavy and damp.
Blood had soaked through the white fabric, spreading in uneven patterns across my chest and sleeves.
It had splattered across my hands, my wrists, even my face—fine droplets drying against my skin.
I wiped at nothing.
Didn’t bother cleaning it.
Didn’t care.
Somewhere down the mountain, in the back of one of the cars, there was a fresh suit waiting. Tailored. Perfect. Untouched by this.
The suit I had been meant to wear to my wedding.
A bitter thought brushed the edge of my mind.
Guests sitting in polished pews. Soft music filling the cathedral. Eyes turning toward empty doors.
The bride—
Waiting. Humiliated. Angry.
Let them all choke on it.
This—
This was the only ceremony that mattered.
