I thought I was living my dream when I married Damian, but everything turned into a nightmare before the reception. Three days later, I ended up burying my husband—only to come face to face with him behind the wheel of a taxi.
This isn’t something I can share with those around me, so I have to rely on the anonymity of the internet to tell my story. You can call me Paige. I’m 28 years old, and just a few months ago, I was the perfect bride.
But my soulmate—let’s call him Damian—died right after we said, “I do.” People say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die, but for me, our entire relationship flashed before mine as I watched him collapse to the ground.
Damian and I met in a small café where I worked part-time. He was one of those quiet, polite customers who always left a generous tip and read a book while sipping his coffee.
I had a crush on him from the moment I first saw him. But when he asked me out, I was shocked. He was stunning, with sharp cheekbones, warm hazel eyes, and an effortless confidence.
I was just an ordinary girl from a lower-middle-class family, and I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. But he was. From our very first date—a simple walk along the local pier—I felt like we were meant to be together.
A year later, we were standing at the altar, surrounded by our closest friends. It was the happiest day of my life. Damian kept smiling at me while I cried through my vows. We were about to embark on the most incredible chapter of our lives together.
But that dream came to a brutal halt. Before the reception, while he was taking photos with friends, Damian suddenly collapsed. At first, I thought he was joking. But when he didn’t get up, I froze.
People rushed to his side, someone called 911, and paramedics arrived to treat him right there on the dance floor. But it was too late.
They rushed him to the hospital, and I followed in shock. Hours later, a doctor came out, his face grim, and told me Damian hadn’t made it. They said it was a heart attack. He was only 32. How could a healthy man just die like that?
The days that followed were a blur. Nothing made sense until the funeral, when his family arrived. I had only met them once, and that one meeting had been enough.
Damian had warned me, but he hadn’t told me everything. His adoptive parents were snobbish and controlling. But one of Damian’s friends, Adam, revealed something even more shocking—they were also extremely wealthy.
“Damian never told you about his family’s fortune because he didn’t want it to change how you saw him,” Adam whispered to me.
Honestly, I had no idea. He had mentioned running a successful business, but that was it. It made sense now. It also explained why they disapproved of our relationship. I wasn’t from the ‘right’ kind of family, and Damian hadn’t even invited them to our wedding.
But now they were here, glaring at me the entire service. I overheard his mother whispering to someone, “She must have been after his money. She probably caused his death. Call our lawyer.”
I wanted to scream that I hadn’t even known Damian was wealthy, let alone wanted his money. But what was the point? They had already made up their minds about me, and I didn’t have the energy to fight.
Three days after the funeral, I couldn’t bear the grief and emptiness any longer. My apartment felt suffocating—every corner was a reminder of Damian.
The sadness was overwhelming, and my thoughts became dark. To make matters worse, his family had started calling me. I never answered, but their voicemails were terrifying.
I needed to get away, so I packed a small suitcase, grabbed my passport, and called a taxi. My plan wasn’t fully formed—I just knew I had to leave the city, maybe even the country. Mexico? Aruba? Anywhere but here.
When the taxi pulled up, I climbed into the back seat and stared out the window, barely acknowledging the driver as I settled into the leather seats and tried to breathe.
“Please fasten your seatbelt,” the driver suddenly said.
I froze. My chest tightened, and my heart pounded. That voice—it was Damian’s.
I turned my head and locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror. Those unmistakable hazel eyes.
“Damian?” I gasped. “But… how? What?!”
My words were a jumbled mess, but before I could process anything, he drove onto the highway and pulled over onto a quiet street. For a moment, he said nothing.
I watched his hands grip the steering wheel, as if bracing himself. Then, finally, he turned and met my gaze.
“I’m sorry, Paige,” he said softly, without preamble. “I know this is a lot to take in. I’ll explain everything. Please, don’t hate me.”
I sat there, eyes wide, mouth open, as Damian told me the impossible truth.
He started with his family. They had adopted him as a teenager and used his intelligence to build their failing business empire back to success—though much of it was built on shady dealings. Over time, Damian became the mastermind behind some of their most profitable (and likely illegal) ventures.
For a while, he was happy to finally belong to a family that was proud of him. But eventually, he grew tired of their criminal activities.
Damian knew it was only a matter of time before they got caught, and he didn’t want to be left with nothing. So he started his own legitimate business, making it so successful that he no longer needed his family’s money.
That’s when they turned on him. They wanted control of his company, but Damian held them off—until he met me. Their business was failing without him, and they saw me as leverage.
“They threatened to destroy you to get to me,” Damian said, rubbing his face. “I couldn’t let that happen. So I did the only thing I could think of—I made them believe I was dead.”
He explained everything. How he faked his collapse, how a certain drug slowed his heart rate enough to mimic death, how he paid the right people to stage the hospital announcement and even the funeral.
When I asked how he escaped from his coffin, Damian laughed. He was never in it. He had been present at the wake, but his contacts had smuggled him out before the burial.
I didn’t know what to say. Was I in some kind of elaborate heist movie?
“I know I hurt you,” he said, his eyes glassy. “But I did it for us. I couldn’t let them win.”
I sat in stunned silence for hours, only breaking it to ask him to take me home.
That night, I let all my rage pour out. I screamed, I cried. “YOU LET ME BELIEVE YOU WERE DEAD!”
“I’m so sorry, baby!”
“DO NOT CALL ME BABY!”
By morning, I was exhausted. Finally, I asked, “What now?”
Damian had a plan. Since faking his death, all his legitimate assets had been transferred to me—his family couldn’t touch them. All I had to do was sell and share the profits with him.
Then he would disappear forever.
I shook my head in disbelief when he asked me something outrageous.
“I know I hurt you, but is there any chance you’d come with me?”
I laughed bitterly and stayed silent for a long time before answering.
“I can’t pick up where we left off,” I said. “I’ll help with the business, but you broke my heart. I need space.”
He nodded solemnly. “Take all the time you need. But I won’t give up on us, Paige. I’ll wait.”
Weeks later, I realized one thing—I still loved him.
So I called him.
“Paige?” His voice was filled with hope.
“Where are you?” I asked. “I’m coming. But don’t ever do this to me again.”
And now, I live in a country with a different language, but the beach is 30 minutes away. Damian and I got married again, and this time, we got to enjoy it. His parents will never find us. We’re finally living our best life.
