All eyes turned to Elena. She stood in the doorway of the ballroom, framed by the light from the hall behind her, looking like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
The emerald green dress shimmerred as she moved. Her hair caught the light from the chandeliers.
Her face was calm and beautiful with just the hint of a smile on her lips.
For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The entire room was frozen, staring at this stunning woman who had just walked into Jonathan Peterson’s wedding.
Then, slowly and deliberately, Helena began to walk into the room. Every step was measured and confident.
Her head was held high. Her eyes looked straight ahead. She didn’t rush. She didn’t hesitate.
She simply walked and the crowd parted before her like water. “Is that?” Someone whispered.
“It can’t be,” another voice said. “Alena,” a woman gasped. Elena Morrison. More gasps rippled through the crowd as people began to recognize her.
“These were people from her old life. Business associates, friends from before the divorce, people who had known her when she was married to Jonathan.”
“Oh my god, it is her,” a man said. “I didn’t recognize her at first, but that’s definitely Elena.
She looks amazing,” a woman whispered to her friend. “What happened? I thought she was.”
The woman trailed off, but everyone knew what she meant. They had all heard the rumors about Elena ending up on the streets.
Some of them had probably even seen her there, though they had pretended not to recognize her.
But the woman standing before them now bore no resemblance to the homeless person they might have passed on the street.
This woman was powerful, elegant, and commanded every eye in the room. Elena continued walking until she reached the middle of the ballroom.
