Beyond the Altar

le left, I sat in the front pew, my fiancé David's hand on my arm. My mother, b

men. My father's ashes, held sacred moments before, were cruelly threatened. The

led, his voice flat. "The wedding... it's off." My job was gone. My mother saw it. Two d

nths later, I overheard his drunken confession: Michael orchestrated my hell. All of it. The assault, the video, even my fath

fied: I was no longer a victim. A cold, hard whisper formed in my mind: *Revenge.*