I never thought I’d be one of those brides who got all weepy over a dress. But there I was, standing in front of the mirror at Bella’s Bridal, my hands clasped over my mouth, trying not to smudge my mascara as tears welled up in my eyes.
“Oh, honey,” my mom said, squeezing my shoulder. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
I smoothed my hands over the intricately beaded lace bodice, marveling at how it hugged my curves just right before flowing into a dreamy tulle skirt. It was perfect, exactly what I’d always imagined I’d wear when I married Adam.
“This is it,” I breathed, twirling around to face my mom. “This is the one.”
Fast forward to a week later, and I was still on cloud nine. I’d hung the dress in the guest room closet, safely zipped up in its garment bag, but I couldn’t resist peeking at it every chance I got.
“You’re obsessed,” Adam teased one night as I came back from yet another visit to my dress.
I flopped onto the couch next to him, grinning. “Can you blame me? In three weeks, I get to wear that dress and marry you. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
Adam pulled me close, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.
If only I’d known then how quickly my world was about to come crashing down.
It happened on a Tuesday morning. I remember because I had the day off work, and I was planning to finalize some wedding details. I practically skipped to the guest room, ready for my daily dose of wedding dress joy.
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