"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Today, we gather to celebrate the wedding of Eugene and Karen," Julian's voice carries clearly across the hall, steady but warm as he stands behind the podium.
The wedding hall, glowing under soft golden lights, is dressed in elegance—white flowers cascading along the aisle, candles flickering like tiny stars. Guests sit neatly on either side of the long aisle, all eyes fixed on the stage, the soft murmur of anticipation fading into silence.
"From the day they first met—guided by the sovereign hand of God—to this very moment, their journey has led them here. Today, they make their covenant of marriage." Julian glances at the closed door, his lips curving into a smile. "Now, let us welcome the groom. Everyone, please give a warm round of applause to Eugene!"
The guests erupt into cheerful applause as the door opens. Eugene steps in, tuxedo sharp, face glowing with joy. He waves lightly, his grin so bright it seems to light the hall itself.
Julian watches his best friend walk down the aisle, his own expression softening into a warm, congratulatory smile. For a brief moment, time slows—a flood of memories of missions, laughter, and near-death moments shared with this man who had become like a brother.
"And now…" Julian's voice softens, his tone rich with warmth, "…let us welcome today's beautiful bride. Karen, please come forward."
The doors open once again. Karen appears, radiant in her flowing white dress, her veil shimmering under the light as she takes her first step into the hall. Guests rise, applause echoing, some wiping away tears already forming. Eugene's eyes glisten as he watches her, taking in the moment with awe.
The two meet at the center, standing side by side on the stage, hands clasping with quiet reverence. Julian smiles at them—genuine, full of warmth—but there's an undertone to that smile, a shadow that only he feels.
"Now, the groom and bride will exchange letters they have prepared for one another," Julian announces.
Eugene opens his envelope, unfolding the paper with hands that tremble slightly but lovingly. He takes a deep breath and begins to read, voice steady but thick with emotion.
"Dear my love, Karen… I can't express how much I love you in words, but I'll try through this letter…"
His words drift through the hall like a prayer, weaving love into every corner of the space. Guests lean forward, holding their breath, moved by the raw sincerity.
Julian's eyes remain on them, his smile gentle, though a quiet ache hides behind it. He is truly happy—overjoyed to see Eugene finding love, building a life. But even in this sacred joy, his mind drifts to another image: Grace.
Grace, pale and still, lying in that hospital bed.
His throat tightens.
If only she could wake up. If only she could open her eyes right now, see this moment, see him.
More than anything else, more than any ceremony, any vow, he just wants her back—with him, awake, alive.
Eugene's voice trembles slightly as he continues, his eyes never leaving Karen's. "Thank you for coming into my life," he reads, pausing as emotion catches in his throat. "I promise to treat you with more care than I give myself, every single day. And I thank God… for bringing us to this marriage."
The final words hang in the air like a benediction. For a moment, the hall is silent, the weight of his sincerity felt by everyone present. Then, applause swells—warm, heartfelt, filling the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Karen lowers her gaze, blinking rapidly to hold back her tears, her lips pressed together as if she's holding in an overwhelmed smile. She clutches her own letter to her chest, taking a deep breath before stepping forward.
Julian watches from the podium, quietly moved by Eugene's words, but even more so by the raw, tender silence that follows. He sees Karen's hands trembling slightly as she opens her envelope, unfolding the paper carefully, almost reverently.
She glances at Eugene and smiles.
She begins reading her letter. "Dear now husband, Eugene, my love…"
The room grows still again, every pair of eyes fixed on her. Eugene stares at her with the kind of look that only comes from years of searching, finally answered in one person.
Julian grips the podium, a quiet prayer stirring in his chest as he watches them.
The wedding hall hums with movement after the photo session and closing remarks, the earlier solemnity replaced by cheerful chatter and laughter. Guests mill about, collecting their coats, exchanging goodbyes, and snapping last-minute selfies.
Near the entrance, Eugene and Karen stand side by side, glowing with gratitude as they bow and thank each guest who passes. Their hands clasp together naturally, effortlessly, as if they have always been meant to fit that way.
Julian watches them from a short distance, a soft smile tugging at his lips. There's joy in his chest for them, but also a subtle weight he can't quite name. Still, he turns toward the exit, weaving through the cheerful crowd.
A gentle pat on his shoulder stops him.
"Julian," Eugene says, his voice warm, eyes bright with happiness. "Thank you. Your MC was amazing. We couldn't have imagined anyone else doing it."
Julian smiles, meeting his best friend's gaze.
"The wedding was beautiful. I hope you both have an amazing honeymoon."
Karen steps closer, her eyes shining with gratitude.
"Congratulations, Karen," Julian adds softly. "You two are so lovely together."
She beams, nodding slightly.
"Thank you so much, Julian."
Julian gives them one last look—Eugene still radiating joy, Karen still holding back happy tears—before he heads out.
The elevator doors slide open, and he steps inside, his reflection faint against the brushed steel walls. The doors close, cutting off the sounds of celebration, leaving only the quiet hum of descent.
In the parking lot, the cold hits him again. Winter wraps around everything—concrete, steel, glass—with its biting stillness. He slips into his car, shutting the door, and the silence feels almost jarring after hours surrounded by laughter and voices.
He rests both hands on the steering wheel, eyes closing for a moment before he even thinks of starting the engine. The chill in the car seeps through his clothes, but it's the loneliness he notices more.
Lord, Father…
He doesn't speak the prayer aloud. Instead, he sits in silence, his eyes shut, heart whispering what his lips don't: for Grace to wake up, for more time with her, for something he can't even name but aches for deeply.
When he finally opens his eyes, the heaviness lingers but so does a quiet resolve. He turns the key, the engine rumbling to life, and pulls out of the lot—headed home to change, then straight to Grace's hospital. Because more than anything else, he just wants to see her.
"How's her status right now?" Monica's voice is calm, but beneath it lies a tremor she can't quite mask.
She stands stiffly at the edge of the hospital room, hands clasped, eyes fixed on the pale figure of her daughter lying still in a white hospital gown. Beside the bed, the attending physician shifts uncomfortably, a fellow nurse quietly adjusting the IV line.
The doctor exhales, shoulders heavy.
"Well… your daughter's heart rate and overall condition are declining. It's been a week since she fell into this coma, and… things don't look good."
The words hang in the air like a cold draft, chilling Monica's spine. Her lips part, but no words come out. Only the sound of the monitor's soft, steady beeps fills the silence.
Her chest feels hollow, her knees almost weak beneath her.
She whispers, "Okay…" the word fragile, barely audible.
Just then, her phone rings sharply, shattering the fragile quiet. She glances at the screen.
Her duty calls, even now.
With one last glance at Grace, her voice steadies into something professional, even as her heart feels splintered. "All right… thank you," she says quickly, almost mechanically, before rushing out of the room, heels clicking against the sterile tiles.
The door swings closed behind her, leaving only the doctor and nurse by Grace's bedside. They both exchange a glance, their expressions weighted with helplessness.
The doctor exhales again, this time deeper, quieter, and the nurse mirrors it—a shared, unspoken grief for the life that hangs in the balance.
Grace lies unmoving, the rhythmic blip of the heart monitor suddenly feeling too fragile, too slow.
Steam curls around Julian in the narrow shower booth, the sound of cascading water filling the apartment with a muffled rhythm. Warm droplets strike his shoulders and back, trailing down like rivers, washing away the chill of winter and the weight of the day—though not the heaviness in his heart.
He tilts his head back, letting the water run over his face, soaking his hair until it clings to his forehead. His fingers rake through it slowly, brushing it back, eyes closed against the heat.
In the quiet, Alex's voice echoes in his memory, low and cautious yet sharp enough to cut through the sound of falling water:
"What would you do if… my sister won't wake up?"
The memory pulls him back to that stark hospital hallway, sterile and cold, where Alex had looked at him with eyes searching for truth, maybe even fear.
Julian had stared at the floor tiles then, at the distant sound of monitors and muffled footsteps, words caught in his throat. The thought alone had wrenched at something deep inside, raw and unbearable.
"I've never thought about Grace not waking up."
Then he had turned, meeting Alex's gaze with quiet certainty. A small, almost pained smile had touched his lips as he added, "But even if that happens… I won't leave her."