Mom turned to me, eyes full of tears.
“You don’t need a perfect dress to be a beautiful bride. Your heart, your strength, your love for Mark—that’s what shines.”
With her by my side, I walked down the aisle.
The ceremony passed in a blur. The vows, the kiss, the applause—I barely felt present.
The reception was harder. Guests offered pitiful smiles, whispered in corners. I tried to dance and smile, but nothing felt real.
Stacey was gone. She’d slipped away right after the ceremony—still in my dress.
Later that night, long after most guests had left, she returned.
She’d changed back into casual clothes and carried the gown in a garment bag. Her face was blotchy, eyes red from crying.
“Emily,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
At first, I couldn’t look at her. But then she broke down, sobbing in a folding chair.
That’s when Mom sat beside her, gently holding her hand.
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