Chapter 269: He Walked Into That Beam of Light

Edward stared at the woman reaching out to him—at the wedding he never stepped forward to claim, at the life that could have been his but slipped through his fingers.

Jenna's smile faded.

She looked at him, a thin veil of sorrow rising in her eyes.

Her hand remained extended. She didn't take it back.

He drank in every detail of her face with something close to greed—her brows, her eyes, the curve of her lips, the loose strands of hair half-hidden beneath her veil.

He had to remember this face. Carve it into his eyes, into his bones, into the last scrap of light left in his soul, and carry it into the next life.

Next time, he wouldn't mistake her for someone else.

Next time, he wouldn't lose her.

Next time, when she reached out her hand, he would take it—and never let go.

Edward loosened his fingers. The knife fell silently onto the carpet.

He stretched out his hand, reaching through the darkness, through all the moments he had missed, betrayed, and could never take back.

His fingertips touched the light. It was warm.

The piano stopped. The wind stilled.

The stained glass windows behind her shattered into countless pieces—gold, blue, red fragments scattering like startled butterflies, then gathering again. The whole world lit up.

He finally stepped into the light.

Jenna had a dream.

In it, she stood bathed in warm light.

She looked down and saw herself in a white wedding gown, the train trailing over a carpet scattered with rose petals. Her veil swayed gently before her eyes, casting the world in a soft, hazy glow.

She lifted her head and saw Edward standing at the end of the aisle.

He wore a crisp black suit, a silver-gray tie she'd chosen herself knotted at his collar, a white rose tucked into his breast pocket.

His hair was neatly combed. There was no trace of impatience or distance in his eyes. At the corner of his mouth was a smile—gentle, tender, achingly unfamiliar—one she had never seen before.

He reached out his hand.

Jenna placed hers in his palm.

His hand was warm. When his fingers closed around hers, they held her gently.

They exchanged rings.

When he said "I do," there wasn't a hint of hesitation.

He lifted her veil and kissed her forehead. His lips lingered at the space between her brows for several seconds, as though sealing an unspoken vow.

They walked down the aisle together to the sound of applause.

Her hand rested in the crook of his arm. He walked slowly, matching her pace—not striding ahead like he used to, leaving her to hurry after him.

She smiled and glanced up at him. He turned to look at her at the same moment. Their eyes met, and they both smiled.

They danced.

His hand rested on her waist, his fingers lightly holding hers as they turned slow circles across the floor.

The music was soft. The lights were warm. She leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed in the faint scent of pine from his suit.

"Jenna."

She lifted her head.

He looked at her, eyes rimmed red, though his lips still curved in a smile.

"I'm sorry."

Her smile froze.

The white rose at his chest suddenly bloomed with crimson. The red spread quickly—petal to petal, chest to shirt, shirt to suit.

His face turned deathly pale in an instant, but he kept smiling at her.

There was light in his eyes. And so many things left unsaid.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Then his body began to fade.

Slowly, he dissolved in her arms.

Jenna reached out in panic, trying to grasp his hand. Her fingers passed through his, touching only empty air.

He smiled at her one last time.

Then he was gone.

She stood alone, still holding the ring he had placed on her finger. But the man who gave it to her was no longer there.

A sharp cry echoed from somewhere far away.

Jenna's eyes snapped open.

The bedroom was lit by a dim nightlight. The heater hummed softly. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:17 a.m.

She lay in her own bed, her back drenched in cold sweat.

Andy's cries came from the nursery next door—sharp, urgent, one after another, as though he'd been frightened by something.

Jenna threw off the covers and sat up. Before her feet touched the floor, the bedroom door swung open.

Ethan stood in the doorway, holding Andy. The baby was wailing in his arms, face flushed red, tiny fists clutching desperately at the collar of Ethan's sleep shirt.

"Did he wake you?" Ethan asked quietly, patting Andy's back, his brow furrowed. "I don't know what's wrong. He just started crying out of nowhere. Won't take milk, diaper's dry—he just won't stop."

Jenna stood and took Andy from him.

The baby's body was burning hot. His little fists were clenched tight. He curled into her arms, his wailing tapering into broken sobs, but he still wouldn't stop. His face pressed into the crook of her neck as he hiccupped through his tears.

"Shh, Andy. It's okay, sweetheart."

Jenna rocked him gently, patting his back in a steady rhythm, humming the lullaby her mother used to sing to her.

Ethan reached for the thermos on the nightstand, about to ask if she wanted water. The moment his gaze landed on her face, his hand stopped mid-reach.

"Jenna." He set the thermos down and stepped closer, his fingers brushing her damp temple. "What's wrong? You're soaked. Did you have a nightmare?"

Jenna paused.

She stood there, holding Andy, and tried to remember. There had been light—bright and blurry. The scent of roses and lilies. The low hum of an organ. Someone smiling at her.

But the images were too vague, like looking through fogged glass that wouldn't clear no matter how hard she tried.

"I think I had a dream," she said softly, uncertain. "But… I can't remember it."

She lowered her head and continued soothing the baby.

Andy's cries gradually quieted. His sobs slowed. His fists unclenched. His small face nuzzled into her neck, and finally, he went still.

But Jenna suddenly felt something hollow inside her.

As though something she had once been very familiar with had quietly exited her life without her noticing.

She couldn't say what it was.

She wanted to hold on to it. But like a dream, it scattered the moment she woke.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his palm against her forehead to check her temperature, then her hand, confirming she wasn't feverish.

He didn't ask what she'd dreamed. He simply pulled her and Andy into his embrace, his chin resting lightly atop her head.

"It's okay," he murmured. "It was just a dream. I'm here."

Jenna leaned into him and nodded.

Outside the window, the sky was a deep pre-dawn blue. The world was perfectly still.