His own reflection stared back at him from the mirror, and he tried in vain to swallow the lump that had settled in his throat. So many things had happened ever since he'd last put on a wedding suit, and yet he couldn't help thinking about the time he'd been there with Angela.
She looked so beautiful in her wedding gown, her light brown hair like a halo around her head; now she was nothing but dust and ashes, while he was about to exchange the same vows with another woman.
Slowly he began to unknot his tie, then shrugged off his jacket. It wasn't fair on the woman who loved him more than he actually deserved, but he couldn't do it. Not today.
He didn't realize he was crying until a soft knock came at the door. His fiancée walked in moments later, and he didn't fail to notice that she wasn't dressed yet.
"Shall I call the priest?" she murmured quietly, reading him exactly like he did with her most of times.
"I'm sorry, Teresa," he let out in a vulnerable tone, hating himself even more for that.
"It's okay," she said soothingly. "I'll wait."
She always did.