Wedding in Grief

Today marks the anniversary of my fiancé's passing.

Occasionally, the thought of his absence slips my mind, tricking me into believing he's still around.

In a hidden corner of my mind, where rationality no longer exists, I cling to the belief that he remains by my side. Among all the things I regret, the reason for his death is the one that haunts me the most.

It was a year ago when my company chose to organize a three-day nature retreat in the unpretentious township of Westfall, known for its tranquility and natural beauty. A charming, quaint town in the mountains of Colorado, it sat peacefully in the heart of a woodland. This small mountain town may not have offered much in terms of sights, but my company's discovery of inns and cobblestone passages added a touch of charm to its modest 10 square mile expanse.

The people there welcomed you with open arms and warm smiles. Given the town's scarcity of visitors, it wasn't surprising that their closeness stood out as a little unconventional.

The options for activities there were limited to hiking or biking through their vast forest or taking a leisurely kayak or boat ride on their narrow river.

Honestly, Westfall would have made for an exceptional honeymoon haven if I had been able to share it with my fiancé.

The thing was, the town had this really weird tradition.

Westfall had a population of around 400 people. Most of them knew one another, most were familiar with one another, and most had been born, raised, and would probably meet their demise without ever leaving.

One of their tour guides explained that everything revolved around preserving the customs of their forefathers.

In the town of Westfall, it was a tradition for the locals to isolate themselves and meditate on certain days of the year. It was usually a whole week of honoring. The custom didn't have a name, really. The townspeople just collectively referred to it as the times when they had a routine observance on the night of a full moon.

During full moons, they took precautions and closed down the town, refusing entry to any outsiders.

Before the full moon made its appearance, visitors were expected to leave as part of their responsibility.

The possibility of not leaving before the full moon left me wondering about the mysterious events that might unfold. I suspected it might mean paying an exorbitant fine or being confined to the town's cramped substation overnight, under the watchful eye of a county sheriff.

I wasn't interested in finding out.

So, when I realized we had to leave, I called my fiancé to come get me.

I wanted him to check out the town, and if we had time, I could show him around quickly, and we could think about it as a place for our honeymoon.

I had this weird connection to the town, and I couldn't even explain it.

Of course, my fiancé readily agreed. I could ask for anything, and he would give it to me willingly, going above and beyond. He would grant my every wish, even if it meant handing me the entire world on a silver platter.

He was a total sweetheart, so charming.

I made multiple attempts to contact him, resorting to calling, texting, and embarking on a quest to find a decent Wi-Fi signal in this remote mountain town, all for the sake of reaching out to him through social media. It didn't take much time for me to understand that he wouldn't respond.

With the night of a full moon approaching, I reluctantly boarded the company bus.

It was on our way back to the city when I caught sight of it.

A familiar silver sedan.

Surrounded by yellow tape and flashing red and blue lights, there was a familiar silver sedan flipped upside down.

Evan Graham died at the prime age of 27.

According to the investigative report, he was presumed to be speeding, based on the evidence. They thought he was in a hurry to get somewhere, to someone. It started drizzling when he was driving, making the road slippery. The investigation stated Evan almost hit an animal with his car, maybe a deer, and slamming his brakes made his silver sedan spin out.

The unmistakable imprints of his tires covered the pavement, directing attention to his inverted sedan.

I can't even recall if I cried. The only thing I could think of is how my body moved on its own. I felt like I was floating as I jumped out of the company van, with people trying to hold me back from getting to my fiancé's car.

They wouldn't even let me look at him.

The sheriff wouldn't let me do it.

Turned out, they were the sheriffs from that small town, Westfall.

The only thing I could look at was the dented door of my fiancé's silver sedan, the smoke coming out of the hood of the car, the stink of gas and melted plastic, and the speckles of shattered glass stretched all around us like little twinkling glitters reflecting the glow of the moon.

The full moon was out, casting an ethereal glow that I couldn't even appreciate.

I remembered the detectives approaching me, their badges glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. I remembered the sensation of an icy hand tugging me aside, and suddenly, I found myself holding a cracked antique watch. If it weren't for the strong arms that pulled me up, I would have landed on the dirty, damp ground.

They told me that my fiancé's body was too messed up to be identified from close up.

I couldn't hear as well after that.

I couldn't tell if it was because of the crazy police sirens or my body trying to protect itself from knowing more.

I could see the sheriff's mouth moving, but I couldn't hear a word he was saying. Arms seemed to extend towards me, gently urging me to settle on the car's hood, where a comforting warmth enveloped my shoulders.

My shadow's figure stretched out in front of me, casting a dark silhouette on the ground, blocking the vibrant lights of the red and blue flashing siren behind me. As I held myself, my arms trembled with the weight of my emotions, a desperate attempt to find some form of consolation.

I would no longer feel the warmth of his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me into a comforting embrace as we drifted off to sleep.

I would no longer feel the warmth of his smile against my lips as we shared a passionate kiss.

I would no longer witness the charming sight of his dimples forming on both sides of his cheeks as he beamed at me with a smile that possessed the power to bring peace to the world.

I would never witness the sight of him standing in a sleek tuxedo, tears streaming down his face, eagerly awaiting me on our wedding day.

It's amusing to think that I can still encounter him at the end of a church aisle.

Evan would likely be dressed in a sharp suit.

The only distinction is, instead of waiting for me at the end of the aisle, standing with his hands inside his pockets as he gave me that toothy grin I cared for so much, he would be lying inside of a white casket.

At least, that's the assumption I've been operating under.

Eager to learn more about my fiancé, Evan, I was driven home by one of the county sheriffs as soon as they advised me about the pieces of information I needed to know. I didn't even get the opportunity to retrieve my suitcases from the company van, leaving me empty-handed.

One of the female sheriffs took it upon herself to drive me straight home.

The day after, my company delivered my bags right to my doorstep, and I could feel the weight of them as I carried them inside.

Following that, my phone rang with an unidentified number flashing on the screen.