The officiant asks whether anyone objects to this union, and I open my mouth to put an end to this, but the church doors burst open. Everyone turns in the direction of light pouring in at the end of the aisle. Conor. He bends over and heaves for breath before raising his hand. He searches me out, and when our eyes lock, a smile creeps up his lips, wrapping around his face as though I’m his sunshine after a destructive storm. “I object!”
