The gold wedding band was suspended between my thumb and index finger, inches from my beautiful bride's hand, when my seven-year-old daughter, Lily, bolted up the chapel steps.

The congregation erupted into chaos.

Aunt Beatrice screamed, grabbing her pearls as she stood up in the third row. Several men in the front pews stood, craning their necks toward the altar.

"What is that noise?" someone shouted.

"Is someone trapped back there?"

My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged animal. All the terrifying puzzle pieces began to slam together in my mind with sickening speed. The woman standing in front of me—the woman wearing the white designer gown, the custom veil, and Chloe's engagement ring—stumbled backward, hitting the edge of the mahogany altar table.

"Stay away from that door!" she shrieked, panic finally breaking through her composure. She reached into the folds of her massive tulle skirt and pulled out a heavy, steel-shackle ring of keys.

"Get away from the altar," I commanded, my voice booming through the vaulted ceiling.

I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist before she could turn the key in the vestry lock. She fights like a wildcat, scratching at my face and hissing curses that no bride should ever know, let alone utter on her wedding day.

"Mark! Stop him! He's crazy!" she screamed to the crowd, trying to turn the guests against me. "He's having a psychotic break!"

"Dad! Get her away!" Lily cried, running over and grabbing the hem of my jacket, her eyes wide with terror.

"Hold her, Thomas!" I shouted to my best man, who had finally sprinted up the steps.

Thomas, a six-foot-two corporate attorney who usually spent his days arguing in civil court, grabbed the impostor by her arms with iron strength, pinning her against the oak paneling.

"Let me go, you bastards!" she screamed, thrashing wildly, her veil entirely ruined on the floor.

I didn't waste another second. I snatched the ring of heavy iron keys from her trembling fingers. My hands shook so badly it took me three tries to find the right key and jam it into the heavy brass keyhole of the vestry door.

The pounding from the inside grew frantic, accompanied by a muffled, disenchanted cry.

“Help me! Please! God, somebody help me!”

The voice hit me right in the chest like a physical blow.