On our wedding day, Jason’s ex-girlfriend sent him her terminal diagnosis. She said her only dying wish was to wear a wedding dress one last time. To fulfill her request, Jason locked me in the bridal suite and prepared to marry her instead. From behind the door, his irritated voice rang out: “Can you stop being so heartless? She’s dying. What’s the harm in letting her have this moment?” Later, the boy-next-door—who had been secretly in love with me for years—climbed up to the rooftop of the venue, threatening to jump unless I agreed to marry him. Jason, his eyes red with desperation, fell to his knees and begged me: “You’re really going to throw away seven years of our relationship for him?” I brushed his hand away and replied coldly: “What else should I do? Watch him die? It’s just signing some papers. Don’t be so heartless.” One hour before the wedding was set to begin, I sat at the vanity, staring at my phone. On the screen was a photo Jason’s ex-girlfriend had sent me. She was wearing my wedding dress—the one I had painstakingly chosen—and had her arm wrapped around Jason’s. She was smiling radiantly, while Jason gazed down at her with a tenderness he’d never shown me. Her accompanying text read: “He said I look better in it than you ever could.” Then another message followed: “If you want your wedding to happen, you’ll have to beg me.” I turned off my phone and looked at the makeup artist in the mirror. My voice was cold but steady. “The wedding dress I ordered—is it really unwearable because of a fitting mistake?” The makeup artist froze, avoiding my gaze. This was the same boutique that had handled my dress, my makeup, and my photography. I had gone above and beyond to ensure every detail of my wedding was perfect, sparing no expense and holding countless meetings with their team. Her silence told me everything I needed to know. I thought back to when Jason accompanied me to my dress fittings—half the time, he was on his phone or laptop, handling “work.” Yet, when he was with her, the photos showed him laughing, his entire face lighting up. I clenched my phone tightly in my hand and exhaled slowly. “Can someone fetch Jason for me?” I said, my voice calm but firm. The makeup artist’s assistant scurried off to find him. I glanced at myself in the mirror. The bodice of the replacement dress felt suffocating, the fabric digging into my ribs. Perhaps clothes that don’t fit should never be worn in the first place. The first person to enter wasn’t Jason—it was the officiant. He looked nervous, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry, Miss Carter,” he said hesitantly, “but… you don’t need to attend the ceremony anymore.” “Don’t need to attend?” I asked, the absurdity of the statement almost making me laugh. “Are you telling me that I, the bride, am not needed at my own wedding?” The officiant opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, Jason walked in. “It was my decision,” Jason said, cutting him off. He was wearing the white tuxedo I had chosen for him, but the bow tie wasn’t the one I had picked. My gaze lingered on it for a moment. Jason noticed and awkwardly tugged at his collar, coughing lightly. “Rebecca has surgery in a few days,” he began, his tone almost defensive. “The hospital issued a terminal notice. She said her only wish is to wear a wedding dress—just once.” I let out a cold laugh. “And she wants to do it at our wedding?” I knew Rebecca. In the third year of my relationship with Jason, I found out about her: his childhood sweetheart, the girl-next-door, the ex-girlfriend who had lost all her hair from chemotherapy. Their families were close, and even after their breakup, their lives remained intertwined. She had moved away for treatment, and her parents had asked Jason to look after her while she was in town. At first, I respected her. I felt sympathy for a young woman whose life had been derailed by illness. But then came the late-night calls, asking Jason to bring her soup after our dates. I had tolerated it, time and again, because she was sick. Jason had always reassured me, prioritizing my feelings and only going to her when it was truly urgent. Sometimes, he even brought me along. Until today. When had he started trying on wedding dresses with her? When had he decided to give her my dress and let her take my place in our ceremony?
The air conditioning in the room suddenly felt too cold, chilling me to the bone. Jason stepped forward, reaching for my hand, but I pulled away. “Bring the dress back,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I don’t want her wearing it.” Jason frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carol. It’s just a ceremony. We can always have another one.” The irritation in his tone, the way his lips tightened—like I was the one being unreasonable—stabbed at me. I stared at him, my voice sharp. “She can have the dress. But does her ceremony have to include you as the groom?” Was this her wielding her illness to manipulate him? Or had Jason already checked out of our relationship, using this as an easy way to slip away? My words hit a nerve. Jason’s face darkened, and he turned toward the door. “You’re impossible to deal with,” he snapped. “You never care about my image. You always have to make everything a spectacle.” The door slammed shut behind him, and I heard the lock click. I stared at the door, stunned, before the reality of the situation hit me. He had locked me in. I threw the skirt of my dress aside and banged on the door. “I don’t agree to this! I’ve spent months preparing for this wedding, and it’s not just some meaningless ritual to me—” His voice came from the other side, cold and impatient. “Can you stop being so heartless? She’s dying. What’s the harm in letting her have this?” I froze, my hands still on the doorknob. She’s dying. Because of her illness, I had already given up so much. Now I was expected to hand over my wedding, my husband, my dignity. But was it my fault she was sick? I took a deep breath and steadied my voice. “Jason, think carefully. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” There was a pause, then the sound of his footsteps fading away. I sank to the floor, my dress pooling around me like a cage. My mind was blank, my heart hollow. She had done it. Rebecca had destroyed my wedding. My phone buzzed on the vanity. It was my parents calling. Before I could answer, the call disconnected. The bridal suite was just behind the main hall, separated by a single door. From here, I could hear the commotion outside—the sound of a crowd murmuring in surprise, followed by applause. Another message from Rebecca popped up. It was a video. The camera panned to the screen in the hall. All the engagement photos Jason and I had spent hours taking had been digitally altered—my face replaced with hers. Every outfit, every smile, every moment of discomfort in the blazing sun—given to her. I trembled with rage, but I still tapped on the next video. This time, I saw Rebecca walking down the aisle, the spotlight following her as she approached Jason. In the shadows behind her, I saw my parents—faces pale, frantically searching for me—held in place by two security guards. Tears blurred my vision and fell onto the screen. Why had I chosen Jason? Why had I dragged my parents into this humiliation with me? I didn’t watch the rest of the videos. As the sounds of celebration continued beyond the wall, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. Slowly, methodically, I removed the ill-fitting wedding dress. I wiped away the makeup. I changed back into my own clothes. For the first time that day, I felt relief. At least I had seen Jason’s true colors before signing the marriage certificate. Better late than never.
The ceremony was finally over. The door to the bridal suite opened, and Jason stood there, rubbing his temples. He looked just as drained as I felt. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said, his voice heavy. “I’ll also explain everything to our parents. I’ll go to their house myself—” I cut him off. “No need. They’re my parents, not yours.” This had nothing to do with him anymore, so why should he bother? Jason looked stunned for a moment, then sighed, his exhaustion showing on his face. “Can you stop being so stubborn? You know Rebecca has been through so much with her illness. What’s the big deal about giving her this one thing?” Even now, he still didn’t think he was wrong. He still defended her. For a moment, I couldn’t even find the words to respond. “Fine,” I finally said, my voice calm but resolute. “Call it stubborn if you want. I’ll pack my things and move out tonight. As for the house, I’ll have someone put it on the market. If you don’t want to sell, just transfer the money my family contributed to my account.” I didn’t wait for his reply. I spotted my parents standing nearby, surrounded by relatives, and walked toward them, leaving Jason with a curt, “That’s it.” When I reached my parents, I overheard one of the relatives whispering, “So, she got dumped at her own wedding, huh?” My second aunt chimed in, shaking her head in disapproval. “Girls like her are too headstrong. That’s why this happened. Imagine the shame—getting replaced on her wedding day.” I felt a sharp pang in my chest as I saw the embarrassment on my parents’ faces. Ignoring the fact that she was my elder, I stepped forward and snapped back. “Are you my aunt or Jason’s?” I asked, my tone cold. “It was his decision to replace the bride, not mine. That’s on him—his lack of responsibility, his inability to respect me, and his failure to communicate. This has nothing to do with me being ‘too headstrong.’ If I’d known even one day earlier, he wouldn’t have been the groom today.” My aunt’s face flushed with embarrassment, and she muttered something under her breath before scurrying away. My mom reached for my hand, her worry clear in her eyes. I gave her a small smile and said softly, “It’s okay, Mom. If the wedding’s off, so be it. I don’t need it anyway.” After making sure my parents got into their car safely, I headed to the house Jason and I had prepared as our marital home to pack my things. I was composed, logical, and determined to get everything over with. But emotions don’t always follow reason. Before I even started packing, tears began streaming down my face, completely out of my control. This house was full of memories of Jason. The small ceramic pot he bought me when he found out I had bad cramps, promising to make me herbal soup every week. The walk-in closet he designed for me after seeing a video I’d liked of a “shoe ferris wheel” for high heels. I had laughed at the colorful LED lights he installed, joking that it looked too over the top. He had just pulled me into his arms and asked for a kiss as a reward. We met in college, then spent a year in a long-distance relationship when work pulled us apart. Jason had chased me relentlessly back then, going out of his way to win me over. He once told me he fell for me after watching me hold my own in a debate competition, saying I was “like a force of nature.” Back then, I was a shining light in his eyes. And now, that same light had become too much for him—he called me “too strong,” as if it was a flaw. I packed in silence, pulling myself out of the memories piece by piece. By the time I had finished, all that remained of our seven years together was a single cardboard box, barely reaching my waist. I stared at the box, wondering how I would haul it out and where I would even put it. That’s when the door burst open, and Stephanie stormed in, her fiery energy filling the room. The moment I saw her, all the strength I had been clinging to crumbled, and my nose started to sting as fresh tears welled up. Stephanie pulled me into a tight hug, squeezing me like she was trying to hold me together. “I knew I should’ve been your maid of honor,” she said fiercely. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have had to face this alone.” Stephanie had never liked Jason. She hated his indecisiveness, his inability to let go of Rebecca, and she had refused to attend the wedding because of him. She’d even warned me before: ”If you marry him, you’ll regret it.” She hadn’t minced words either: ”Rebecca being alive is bad enough, but if she dies, you’ll never win against a ghost.” Her words had caused a huge fight between us. We stopped talking for months. But now, looking back, I realized she’d been right all along. I was so grateful she came back. Stephanie had purposely scheduled a work trip to avoid my wedding, but as soon as she heard what had happened, she dropped everything and rushed to find me. She even took time off to stay with me, refusing to let me wallow alone. With her around, the days didn’t seem so unbearable. A week later, she was already trying to set me up with new people when Jason showed up at my door. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. A scumbag coming back to grovel? Well, I wasn’t about to let him walk all over me again.
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