Julienne

The Empty Aisle The scent of lilies was overwhelming, a cloying sweetness that felt like a chokehold in the silent cathedral. Elena stood frozen at the altar, the intricate lace of her veil heavy against her shoulders. She looked down at the bouquet of white roses, her knuckles white as she gripped the stems. He wasn't coming. The grand oak doors remained closed, and the pews, filled with expectant faces only moments ago, now felt like a graveyard of broken promises. Then, she saw it—a small, cream-colored envelope resting on the velvet cushion where his ring should have been. With trembling fingers, she opened it. There was no long explanation, only five words scrawled in a frantic, familiar hand: