The Shroud Under My Veil

From the back cover

We were playing a round of Undercover at the party.

It was a simple word-association bluffing game. Everyone in the circle drew a slip with the secret civilian word—"wedding dress"—except for me.

On my folded slip of paper, in stark black ink, was written: "burial shroud".

When it was my turn to describe my card, I kept my voice light, offering a gentle smile.

"I'll be wearing it soon," I said. "And you only ever wear it once in a lifetime."

Sitting beside me, my fiancé, Keith, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. It made sense; our wedding was barely four weeks away.

Before anyone else could piece together their clues, Keith’s lifelong best friend, Mallory, let out a throaty laugh from across the coffee table.

"Well, I guess that makes me the odd one out," she chimed in, swirling the ice in her highball glass. "I already wore mine last month."

A brief flicker of confusion crossed my mind. Why on earth would Mallory have worn a burial shroud last month?

Before I could say anything, Keith reached over, covering my fingers with his warm, calloused palm.

"Celia," he murmured, his voice dipping low so only our side of the room could hear. "Mallory and I... we took a set of wedding portraits last month."

I froze.

"It was an old childhood pact," he explained quickly, squeezing my hand as if trying to press the tension out of the air. "We promised back in middle school that before either of us actually walked down the aisle, we’d do a mock shoot together. Just to close the chapter on our childhood dream. I swear, Celia, once we’re married, I’m entirely yours. I'll spend the rest of our lives making you happy."

If this had happened a month ago, or even yesterday, I would have pulled my hand back. I would have demanded an explanation, tears stinging my eyes, shouting until my voice cracked.

Instead, I looked at him and simply smiled.

"Okay," I said.

Three hours earlier, an oncologist in a white coat had placed a manila folder between us.

Stage four gastric c