Glory turned in front of the big hallway mirror, studying the stranger staring back. The emerald silk dress hugged her hips like a secret. The deep dip in the back showed skin she'd once hidden. Tonight, she let it show. Or tried to.
She twisted her hair up, let it fall again. Who was this woman — perfume on her collarbone, new diamond studs catching the light like they belonged to her?
You look beautiful, she told herself. He loves you. He chose you.
But deep in her ribs, the old whisper pushed back: He chose her first.
Glory pressed her palm to her stomach, breathing deep. Not tonight, she promised herself. Tonight is mine. Ours.
She heard him before she saw him — David's footsteps, slow and bare on the hallway tiles. Then the small sound he made when he saw her. He never said her name when he looked at her like this.
"Wow."
She didn't turn. She tilted her chin instead, catching his reflection over her shoulder. "Wow what?"
He crossed the last few steps. His warmth touched her before his hands did. His fingers brushed her waist, traced the silk.
"You look…" His breath touched her ear. "Like trouble."
A small shiver slid down her spine. "David, we're going to be late."
He pressed his lips to the skin just above the dress's low back. "They can wait."
She smothered a laugh, rolling her eyes at his reflection. "You're impossible."
He spun her gently, so she faced him now — hair falling across her shoulder. He tucked it back, his eyes locked on hers like he needed her to say something she didn't know how to say.
"You're dangerous," she teased, pushing his chest lightly.
He caught her wrist, kissed her knuckles slow. "Stay here. Don't move."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Just five seconds." He pressed his finger to her lips when she started to argue. "Stay."
Before she could protest, he slipped away, door clicking soft behind him. She was alone again — just her, the mirror, the soft echo of her own heart.
Glory smoothed the silk, tugged at a wrinkle that wasn't there. Her eyes drifted to the old photo on the side table — Cynthia in white lace, David behind her, both of them young and laughing like they didn't believe in endings.
Her throat tightened. She hated that she couldn't hate the photo. She hated that Cynthia still belonged here in a way Glory never would.
What am I doing here? she asked the stranger in the mirror. Whose place am I stealing?
The glass didn't answer. Instead, it flickered open a memory — the one she never really buried.
It was dusk three years ago. The garden glowed gold. The old house hummed with voices — friends, music, Cynthia's laugh threading through the air like a promise that nothing bad could touch them.
David had pulled her aside. His hand warm, his smile small but shy. He'd pressed a velvet box into her palm.
"Not yet," he'd whispered, eyes soft. "Tomorrow. When they call your name. I want everyone to see."
She'd teased him — "Took you long enough." — but her heart had flipped when she'd felt the weight of the ring inside. Cynthia's ring. The one she'd left behind.
Back then, it had felt like permission. Like love rewriting itself. Back then, she hadn't thought about who it fit first.
Glory blinked back to the mirror. Her pulse drummed behind her ribs. She lifted her hair again, exposing the nape of her neck where he always kissed her first.
The bedroom door cracked open. David stepped out, holding another small velvet box. She raised an eyebrow.
"What's that?"
He crossed the room, eyes warm but tired in a way he couldn't hide. "Something you forgot."
He flipped open the box — tiny diamond studs, bright under the hallway light. The ones she hadn't worn since last spring. Cynthia's? Or hers? She didn't know anymore.
David clipped them onto her ears, careful, gentle. His fingertips lingered longer than they needed to. He pressed his lips to her neck, right where her pulse jumped.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Now you look like all my wishes came true."
She almost let herself believe him. Almost.
"David…" Her voice cracked before she could catch it. "What if they judge me? Tonight. Everyone who loved her first."
He stilled, his fingers brushing her jaw, his thumb tracing the small tremor in her lip. "Let them," he said softly. "Let them talk. Let them remember. I don't care."
"But I do," she whispered. Her throat burned. "I do."
He rested his forehead to hers, voice rough. "Then don't go. We'll stay. Just us."
She huffed a laugh that tasted like tears. "And waste nine dresses? You'd cry over them more than I would."
He smirked, pressing his mouth to hers. The kiss was sweet at first — then hungry in a way that felt like an apology he couldn't say out loud.
When he pulled back, his eyes were darker, stormier. "One more minute. I need to shower. I promise I'll hurry."
She wrinkled her nose, teasing. "Yes. Please. You smell like cold coffee and guilt."
He laughed — a real laugh this time. "Come with me."
She gasped, swatting his chest. "Get out of here, David."
He stepped back, grinning, but the shadow under his eyes didn't quite leave. He slipped into the bedroom again. A heartbeat later, she heard the water run — the old pipes rattling, his humming low behind the door.
Glory turned back to the mirror. She dabbed under her eyes, fixing smudged mascara. Her heart thudded too fast, like it knew something her mind refused to name.
She bent to slip on her shoes — then paused. Something pale peeked from under the dresser. She crouched, reaching for it.
Her fingers found soft silk — pale blue, thin as breath. Cynthia's scarf. The one she used to wear on lazy Sunday mornings, twisting her hair up with a laugh. It still smelled faintly of lavender and something older — something gone.
Glory pressed it to her chest. She wanted to bury her face in it — breathe it in until the ghost behind her ribs went quiet. But she didn't. She stood, staring at the scarf in the mirror's edge. Her own reflection looked smaller somehow, trapped in someone else's story.
The shower stopped. Silence. Then David's voice — humming a tune she almost recognized. He was trying so hard to wash the past off them both. But the past had claws.
Her phone buzzed on the hallway table. The sound made her jump. She crossed the floor, scarf still clutched in one hand. The screen flashed: Unknown Number.
Glory hesitated — thumb hovering over Accept. A second buzz — a message this time. Just a single line.
Does he know what you did while she was gone?
Glory's breath caught. Her thumb trembled over the screen. What I did…?
She glanced at the closed bathroom door — the muffled thud of David moving inside. Her throat went dry. She looked down at the scarf, then at the phone.
Another message flashed through.
Tell him before I do.
The phone slipped from her fingers. It landed on the hallway rug with a dull, harmless thud. But the words burned her palms like fire.
Behind the door, David's voice called, soft and warm. "Babe? Still there? Don't run off on me."
Glory didn't answer. She couldn't. Her eyes dropped back to the mirror — to the stranger in silk and diamonds holding another woman's ghost.
Tonight was supposed to be hers.
But secrets never stayed buried. Not for her. Not for him.
And someone out there knew.