Camila — I Was Marrying a Groom With No Face

I was walking down the aisle of an enormous church lit by hundreds of candles. Everyone I had ever known filled the pews, including people I had not seen since childhood. They smiled when I looked away, but whenever I met their eyes, their faces became solemn. At the altar stood a groom with a white veil covering his entire head.

I whispered to my mother that I did not know whom I was marrying. She adjusted my dress and answered, ‘You chose him a long time ago.’ The groom held out one hand. His ring was engraved with the address of my childhood home. When I asked his name, every guest replied together, ‘The life you said you wanted.’

The stained-glass windows began changing. One showed me raising children; another showed me travelling alone; another showed an office with my name on the door. In the final window I sat in an elegant house beside a partner whose face had been carefully scratched away. Each future looked peaceful until I noticed another Camila outside the glass, pounding to be let in.

I lifted the groom’s veil. There was no face beneath it, only a small mirror. My reflection was not wearing a wedding dress. She stood outside the church in ordinary clothes, holding a suitcase. The priest asked, ‘Do you accept the life that was chosen before you understood the question?’ The guests leaned forward as though my answer belonged to them.

I said I needed more time. Every candle went out except one behind the altar. In its light, the faceless groom removed his ring and placed it in my palm. Inside the ring was a second inscription: ‘A promise can be returned before it becomes a prison.’ The church doors opened onto several different roads, and I woke as the guests began following me instead of the groom.