The Third Shadow
On our wedding night, my wife, who almost never drank, got wasted because she was supposedly too happy.
Just when I didn't know what to do, my best friend sent me a long message explaining how to take care of her.
I blushed, but I still followed his instructions and soothed her the way he described.
Natalie, who had been making a scene, miraculously quieted down.
But just as I was about to call my friend and thank him, Natalie suddenly hugged me from behind.
Heartbroken, she whispered, "Ashton Hawke, you're the one I wanted to marry."
As she said it, the tattoo near her heart slipped into view: a hawk with its wings spread wide.
My mind went blank.
Ashton Hawke was my best friend of twenty years.
Natalie hadn't gotten drunk because she was happy.
She had gotten drunk because she hadn't married the man she truly wanted.