Sometimes these details come up in wedding toasts. Well, she has this cute little butterfly tattoo on her wrist, Robert said. She got it in college.
Her wild phase, she calls it. He chuckled. Why do you ask? Father Michael felt a jolt.
The caller had mentioned a butterfly tattoo, but said the real Anna had it, not the imposter. Had the caller been wrong, or deliberately misleading him? No reason, Father Michael said, forcing a smile. I should check on the bride.
It’s almost time. On the other side of the church, Anna sat in the bridal room, surrounded by bridesmaids. When Father Michael knocked, the women giggled and hurried to cover Anna’s dress, citing bad luck if the groom’s representative saw it.
Father Michael, Anna said warmly, is everything okay? Just checking if you need anything, he replied, studying her carefully. Anna wore a bracelet on her left wrist, a delicate silver chain with small pearls. It could easily cover a tattoo.
I’m perfect, she said. Just ready to become Mrs. Miller. One of the bridesmaids adjusted Anna’s veil.
This is so romantic. You two are perfect together. Father Michael noticed Anna’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Was it just wedding nerves or something else? Anna, may I speak with you alone for a moment? Father Michael asked. A brief prayer before the ceremony. The bridesmaids exchanged glances but filed out of the room.
When they were alone, Father Michael closed the door. Is something wrong, Father? Anna asked, her voice steady but her eyes watchful. I received a concerning phone call last night, he said directly.
About you? Anna’s face paled slightly. About me? What did they say? They suggested you might not be who you claimed to be. Anna stared at him for a long moment, then let out a small laugh.
That’s ridiculous. Who would say such a thing? They mentioned a butterfly tattoo. Father Michael said, watching her reaction carefully.
Anna lifted her wrist and removed the bracelet. There, on her skin, was a small blue butterfly. This one? I’ve had it for years.
Robert knows all about it. Father Michael frowned. This didn’t match what the caller had told him.
Was he being played, or was Anna very clever? They’d also mentioned a scar on your back, or rather, the lack of one. Now Anna’s expression changed. Something flashed in her eyes, fear.
Anger? She opened her mouth to respond when there was a knock at the door. Five minutes. Everyone.
Mrs. Peterson called through the door. Anna stood up, smoothing her dress. We should continue this conversation after the ceremony, Father.
My future husband is waiting. As she walked past him, Father Michael noticed something that made his blood run cold. Anna’s hands were steady, or well confident.
This was not a nervous bride. This was a woman with a plan. And he was now certain that plan did not include Robert’s happiness.
The wedding ceremony began with the traditional music of Canon in D. Guests stood as the bridesmaids walked down the aisle in pale blue dresses, each carrying a small bouquet of white roses. Robert waited at the altar, his face glowing with happiness and anticipation. Then came the moment everyone was waiting for.
The organist switched to the wedding march, and the doors at the back of the church opened. Anna stood there in a stunning white gown, her face partially hidden behind a delicate veil. A collective gasp rose from the guests.
She was beautiful. Father Michael watched her closely as she made her way down the aisle. Her steps were measured, graceful.
She moved like someone who had rehearsed this moment many times in her mind. When she reached the altar, Robert took her hand, his eyes shining with tears of joy. You look incredible, he whispered, loud enough that Father Michael could hear.
Anna smiled up at him. So could you. Father Michael began the ceremony, his mind racing.
The butterfly tattoo existed, contrary to what the mysterious caller had said. But the scar on her back did not. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what to do.
Dearly beloved, Father Michael began, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and this company to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. As he spoke the familiar words, Father Michael noticed Anna glancing toward the back of the church several times. Was she looking for someone? Expecting something? He continued with the ceremony, leading the couple through the initial prayers and readings.
A friend of Robert’s read a passage from Corinthians about love being patient and kind. Anna’s supposed cousin read a poem about two lives joining as one. Then came the moment of truth.
If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace. Father Michael paused, looking out at the congregation. The church was silent.
He glanced at Anna, who was staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched slightly. Just as Father Michael was about to continue, the church doors opened. A woman in a simple blue dress walked in.
She was Asian, like Anna, but older, perhaps in her fifties. Father Michael recognized her immediately as the woman he had seen praying in the church and strongly suspected she was the anonymous caller. I object, the woman said, her voice clear and strong.
Gasps and murmurs filled the church. Robert turned, his face a mask of confusion. Who are you? He asked.
The woman walked halfway down the aisle. My name is Grace Chen. Anna Chen was my niece.
Anna’s face had gone white. She clutched her bouquet so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Was, Robert asked, his voice shaking.
Anna Chen died two years ago in a car accident in San Francisco, Grace said. This woman is not my niece. All eyes turned to Anna, who was now visibly trembling.
This is absurd, Anna said. I don’t know who this woman is. She’s clearly confused or… Show them your shoulder, Grace interrupted.
The real Anna had a birthmark shaped like a crescent moon on her left shoulder. Every Chen woman in our family has it. Father Michael stepped forward.