### Chapter 1: The Return

The church doors swung open with a sound that echoed through the silent sanctuary like thunder.

Every head turned.

Every breath stopped.

Every heart seemed to pause midbeat.

Naomi stood in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the entrance.

She wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves, her natural curls falling past her shoulders.

Her dark skin glowed despite the exhaustion in her eyes.

She was thinner than she used to be, and there were shadows under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and endless tears.

But she was alive, very much alive.

At the altar, Julian froze mid-vow.

The words died on his lips as his eyes locked onto hers.

His face went from tan to pale in seconds.

The ring he held slipped from his fingers and clattered against the marble floor, the sound piercing through the shocked silence.

“I do,” Camille had been saying, her voice sugary sweet.

But now she turned to see what had stolen her groom’s attention.

When she saw Naomi, her perfect smile cracked like porcelain hitting concrete.

“No,” she whispered.

“No, no, no.

”

In the front row, Lorraine, Naomi’s stepmother, stood up so fast her chair toppled backward.

Her carefully applied makeup couldn’t hide the terror that washed over her features.

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

Naomi took one step forward, then another.

Her heels clicked against the floor.

Each step was measured and deliberate.

She wasn’t running.

She wasn’t rushing.

She walked down that aisle like she owned it, like she was the bride this day was meant for.

“Stop!” Someone whispered, “Maybe it was Camille.

Maybe it was Lorraine.

” Naomi didn’t care.

The guests started murmuring.

Phones came out.

People were recording.

This was the scandal of the century in their small community.

“You’re dead,” Julian finally managed to say, his voice breaking.

“You died.

There was a funeral.

I saw the death certificate.

”

“Did you see my body?” Naomi asked, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her chest.

She stopped five feet from the altar, her eyes never leaving Julian’s face.

“Did you identify me yourself or did you just believe what you were told?”

Tears streamed down Julian’s face.

“Naomi, I thought—we all thought—”

“You thought wrong?” Naomi said simply.

She turned her gaze to Camille, who was now backing away from the altar, her white dress trailing behind her.

“Hello, sister.

That’s a beautiful dress.

Is it comfortable? Does it feel good to wear white while standing on a foundation of lies?”

Camille’s face twisted.

“You don’t understand.

You were gone.

You left him.

We just—”

“I died, Camille.

Or at least that’s what mother told everyone.

” Naomi shifted her attention to Lorraine, who looked like she might pass out.

“Isn’t that right, Lorraine? You told them I was dead.

You held a funeral.

You comforted my grieving fiancé.

And then you pushed your daughter into my place before my side of the bed even got cold.

”

The church exploded with gasps and whispers.

People were standing now, craning their necks to see better, to hear better.

This was better than any television drama they’d ever watched.

“That’s not—I can explain,” Lorraine started.

But her voice was shaking so badly the words barely made sense.

“Explain what?” Naomi’s voice rose for the first time, emotion cracking through her careful control.

“Explain how you told everyone I died in a car accident in Paris? Explain how you bribed officials to create a fake death certificate? Explain how you changed all the phone numbers so I couldn’t reach anyone when I finally recovered from pneumonia? Explain how you stole my life?”

Julian swayed on his feet.

Two groomsmen rushed forward to steady him.

“Pneumonia,” he whispered.

“You were sick.

You were alive and sick and I wasn’t there.

”

“You weren’t there because you were told I was dead,” Naomi said.

And now her voice softened with genuine pain.

“You were told I was gone and you believed it without question.

You moved on fast.

”

“I grieved for you,” Julian said, his voice raw.

“I was destroyed.

I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.

I wanted to die, too.

Camille was there.

She helped me.

”

“She took advantage,” Naomi finished.

“She and her mother saw an opportunity and they took it.

They saw you vulnerable and broken and instead of helping you heal, they replaced me.

”

Camille was crying now, her perfect makeup running down her cheeks in black streams.

“I loved him too,” she sobbed.

“I always loved him.

You had everything, Naomi.

Everything.

You were always the pretty one, the smart one, the one everyone loved.

For once, I just wanted something that was yours.

”

The honesty of it was almost worse than the lies.

Naomi felt something twist in her chest, but she refused to let it show on her face.

“So, you helped your mother fake my death?”

“I didn’t know she was going to,” Camille started.

But Lorraine cut her off.

“Shut up, Camille.

Don’t say another word.

”

But it was too late.

The truth was spilling out like water from a broken dam, and there was no stopping it now.

Naomi reached into her purse and pulled out a folder.

She held it up for everyone to see.

“I have evidence.

All of it.

The fake death certificate, the bribed officials, the bank records showing payments made to falsify documents.

Every lie, every crime documented and ready for the police.

”

As if on cue, sirens began to wail in the distance, growing closer.

Naomi had called them before entering the church.

She timed it perfectly.

Lorraine’s face went from pale to green.

“You wouldn’t.

”

“I already did,” Naomi said.

She looked at Julian one last time.

He was on his knees now, sobbing, reaching for her.

She felt nothing but pity.

“Goodbye, Julian.

I hope you find what you’re looking for someday.

But it won’t be me.

”

She turned and walked back down the aisle, her head held high as the police entered through the door she just walked through.

Behind her, chaos erupted.

Lorraine tried to run.

Camille collapsed in her wedding dress, wailing.

Julian called Naomi’s name over and over, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

But Naomi didn’t look back.

She’d spent too long looking back, trapped in the past.

Now she was walking forward into a future that was finally completely her own.

### Chapter 2: Memories of Before

Three years earlier, life had been simple.

Beautiful.

Even Naomi remembered it in colors—bright yellows and soft blues, the kind of colors that made everything feel possible.

She’d met Julian at a coffee shop on a Tuesday morning.

She’d been running late for work, juggling her laptop bag, her phone, and a presentation folder that kept trying to escape her grip.

She hadn’t been watching where she was going, and she collided directly into a man holding two cups of coffee.

The coffee had gone everywhere, all over his white shirt, all over her cream blouse.

They both froze, staring at each other in horror.

And then they both started laughing at the exact same time.

“I am so sorry,” Naomi had said, grabbing napkins from a nearby dispenser and trying to help clean his shirt, which only made things worse.

“No, no.

I should have been watching,” Julian had insisted, taking the napkins from her with a grin that made her heart do a strange little flip.

“I’m Julian, by the way.

”

“Naomi Foster,” she’d replied, and when their hands touched as he handed her more napkins, she’d felt something electric pass between them.

They’d both been late to work that day, but they’d exchanged numbers.

And that evening, Julian had called her.

“I figure I owe you a coffee,” he’d said.

“One that actually makes it into a cup this time.

”

Their first date had been that weekend.

Julian had taken her to a small Italian restaurant where the pasta was homemade and the owner knew everyone by name.

They talked for four hours straight about everything and nothing.

Naomi told him about her job as a marketing consultant, about her dreams of starting her own agency someday.

Julian told her about his work as an architect, about his love for designing homes that felt like havens.

“I believe spaces should heal people,” he’d said, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when he talked about his work.

“Every room should tell a story.

Every corner should feel safe.

” Naomi had fallen a little bit in love with him right then.

Their relationship had grown like a garden in spring.

Natural, inevitable, beautiful.

Within six months, they were inseparable.

Julian met her friends.

Naomi met his family.

Everything felt right in a way nothing had ever felt right before.

The only shadow in Naomi’s happiness was her home life.

Her father, Thomas, had remarried when Naomi was twelve years old.

Her mother had died from cancer when Naomi was ten, and Thomas had been lost without her.

When he met Lorraine at a business conference, he thought he’d found salvation.

Lorraine had seemed nice enough at first.

She was polished, elegant, always knowing the right thing to say.

She came with a daughter, Camille, who was Naomi’s age.

Thomas had hoped the girls would become sisters.

But Camille had never wanted a sister.

She’d wanted to be an only child, the center of attention, the princess of the house.

When Naomi’s father doted on Naomi, Camille would sulk for days.

When Naomi got good grades, Camille would complain they were too easy.

When Naomi got into a good college, Camille said it was only because of affirmative action, a comment so cruel and racist that Thomas had grounded her for a month.

Over the years, Camille’s jealousy had only grown worse.

And Lorraine had enabled it.

Always making excuses for her daughter’s behavior, always finding ways to put Naomi down while lifting Camille up.

When Naomi introduced Julian to her family, she saw the way Camille looked at him.

It was the same way a child looked at a toy in a store window, wanting it simply because someone else had it.

“He’s handsome,” Camille had said that first dinner, her voice dripping with sugar.

“You’re so lucky, Naomi.

”

“I know,” Naomi had replied, squeezing Julian’s hand under the table.

Lorraine had smiled, but it hadn’t reached her eyes.

“Don’t get too comfortable, dear.

Men like Julian don’t usually stay with women like you for long.

” The comment had stung, the implied racism clear, even if unspoken.

Thomas had immediately defended Naomi, but the damage was done.

Julian had looked uncomfortable and Naomi had felt small.

But Julian had proved Lorraine wrong.

Month after month, year after year, he stayed.

He loved Naomi fiercely, publicly, without shame or hesitation.

When they walked down the street together, he held her hand proudly.

When they went to events, he introduced her as his girlfriend with a smile that could light up rooms.

Two years into their relationship, Julian had proposed.

They’d been on a beach at sunset and he’d gotten down on one knee in the sand with a ring that had belonged to his grandmother.

“Naomi Foster,” he’d said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

You make every day brighter.

You make me want to be better.

Will you marry me?”

She’d said yes before he even finished the question.

They’d spun around on that beach, laughing and crying and kissing as the waves crashed around them.

The engagement had been magical.

They’d started planning the wedding immediately.

Naomi wanted something simple but elegant.

Julian wanted whatever made her happy.

They’d picked a date, started looking at venues, dreamed about their future together.

But then the job offer came.

A marketing firm in Paris wanted Naomi for a six-month contract.

It was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to work with international clients, to build her portfolio, to make connections that could launch her own agency when she returned.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Naomi had said, curled up against Julian on their couch.

“Then don’t,” he’d replied simply.

“But this job will be here when you get back or another one like it will come along,” Julian had said.

“Then he cupped her face in his hands, looking at her.

Seriously.

Naomi, I love you.

I want to marry you.

I want to spend my life with you.

But I also want you to chase your dreams.

Six months will fly by.

We can video call every day.

I’ll even come visit.

And when you get back, we’ll get married and start our life together.

”

She’d loved him so much in that moment, it physically hurt.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he’d