His Wedding, My Funeral Novels & Stories

He perfectly knows how to combined colors so his outfit is suited to him well. "Why are you staring the whole me?" I wasn't shock when he woke up. "I'm adoring you," I confessed. "And thankful for this. You put a so much effort for this despite of how busy you are." "You're my wife so it's normal for me to put an effort. Our wedding is legal, Alma, not a secret or illegal. And woman should be treated that way... with effort."

Shame. He never imagined he would marry like this, without love, without happiness, without family present. Only a small group of people: Adrian as a witness, Leon as his best man, and a few hotel staff hired to handle the event. No relatives, no business associates, no luxury that he usually had for every important event in his life. "You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding," Adrian said as he entered the room, patting Sebastian's shoulder. "Because this feels like a funeral," Sebastian replied flatly. "The funeral of my pride."

That wasn't Marco. The Marco I knew was always smooth, always classy. He never lost his cool in front of people, especially not over someone else's business. What bothered me more was the fleeting look of disappointment on his face. And resentment. As the top wedding planner in New York, I had to keep business and personal separate. I watched them walk the aisle. Again and again. The rehearsal didn't end until Isabella finally had a satisfied smile on her face. The stabbing pain in my chest grew sharper, and I had to lean against a pew, pressing hard against it.

Just like then, his touch was awkward yet steady, a silent attempt to hold me together when my world was falling apart. The funeral was a quiet, somber affair. The sky hung heavy with unrelenting gray, as if the universe itself grieved alongside me. I stood motionless beside my father, my breath shallow, as I watched my husband being lowered into the earth. This wasn’t the forever he had promised me. There were no more whispered dreams of growing old together, no more late-night laughter or morning kisses. At just twenty-six, I was already a widow, trapped in a reality I never saw coming.

On my wedding day, my fiancee, Alisson Poole, never shows up. Neither do her bridesmaids. I stand alone at the altar all day, enduring a roomful of pitying and contemptuous stares. After 999 rejected calls, I finally accept that she has fled the wedding. Back in our empty home, I see a post from her first love, Rhett Barker. "The art I want to explore with you goes beyond the soul. It includes the body, too." In the photo, Alisson wears the million-dollar custom wedding dress I bought her. She and her six bridesmaids kneel commando at his feet. Their eyes are dazed, burning with raw desire. They look at him like he's their deity, eager to be his most devoted followers. I stare at the

It was getting dark already and the party at the company was already on but he wasn't interested in going. Every month on the fifteenth he always came to the cemetery and today won't be an exemption. He got to the grave, threw away the old flowers and placed fresh ones then sat there. "Sheena Easton, 1975-2013," was written on the stone. "You know I got married last week. It was arranged I don't know why he insisted I get married to her. You said I should move on but I don't think I can forgive him. I'm just doing my best to burry everything. My wife, that's the only good thing he has ever done for me. I told you I will never get married till I meet someone like you, she's like you. You reme

, creating a stark contrast with the neighboring "happiness" Death, how sad it was. But the wedding, and it was a wedding where the bride was carrying new life, how joyous it was. Jacob seemed to have thought of something, and his pupils suddenly contracted. He seemed to have understood the meaning of "the end is just the beginning". He suddenly couldn't help but burst into laughter. It was the heavens that helped him, allowing him to coincidentally encounter this occasion where a funeral and a celebration were held at the same time. Otherwise, he would have racked his brains and still couldn't come up with it.

She could tell that he was extremely upset from the stiff expression on his face. She reached out to hug him. “Death is a natural phenomenon in life. Grandfather has gone to another world to continue living. Don’t be too upset.” His gaze darkened as he fixed it on her. Perhaps he had decided to listen to what she said. “Sorry, I should be giving you an unforgettable wedding today, but you need to prepare for a funeral with me now.” She deliberately showed him a rigid expression and said, “You’re wrong. I’m your wife. Of course, I must do everything by your side.”

The wedding was 30 hours away. The owner of the pizzeria where it was to be held, Bob Walden, had long since helped me decorate the place the way I wanted it. When I called him, he cheerily asked whether I wanted to get more flowers to spruce the place further. I smiled bitterly. "I'm canceling the wedding, Mr. Walden." He sounded relieved. "That's great! You've finally seen sense. No proper man would make his wife settle for a wedding in a pizzeria in this day and age—he's just making a fool out of you!

He'd been with Isabella, celebrating some milestone in their relationship while our daughter waited in vain to share her mother's dreams with her father. Now, standing in this magnificent venue that bore no resemblance to the intimate celebration I'd once imagined, I felt a hollow ache in my chest. This perfect wedding would become the funeral of our marriage, played out in front of the entire city's elite. The irony was almost unbearable. In the bridal suite, I sat perfectly still while the makeup artist worked, transforming my face into the mask of a happy bride. My phone buzzed with a text from Liam: "Dr. Harrison and the crematorium staff are in position outside the venue. Tony Rodriguez