The Day of the Wedding
It was a perfect fall afternoon—sunny, breezy, with golden leaves fluttering from the trees like confetti. My bridesmaids and I were in the dressing suite of the venue, getting ready. Laughter, perfume, and the pop of champagne bottles filled the air. I should’ve been floating with joy.
Until Sarah, my maid of honor, burst in, pale as a ghost.
“Come here,” she said, grabbing my hand. “You have to see this.”
She dragged me to the window. I peeked out, confused—and then my heart sank.
Linda was stepping out of her sleek silver car, wearing a white gown.
Not ivory, not cream. Brilliant, beaded white.
It wasn’t just white—it was a wedding gown. Tight bodice. Sweetheart neckline. A subtle train. And she was smiling like it was her big day.
“What… is she doing?” I whispered.
“She’s taking selfies,” Sarah said, jaw clenched.
I rushed outside, still in my robe and slippers. My hair was half curled, and my makeup artist yelled after me to wait, but I couldn’t.
“Linda,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “you can’t wear white. Not to a wedding. Especially not my wedding.”
She blinked at me innocently. “Oh, sweetheart, relax. It’s not that white. It’s got pearls on it. Totally different vibe.”
I gaped at her. “That’s a wedding dress!”
She shrugged. “I never got to be a bride, remember? Just a courthouse signing. This felt like the perfect moment. And white looks so good on me. Don’t you think?”
