I raised my hand slightly without looking away from her.
“I’m wearing it, Linda. Colin and I both agree.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line.
She didn’t argue further, but the look she gave me stayed with me long after she left.
I told myself she would eventually understand.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
The morning of the wedding was exactly as chaotic as people say weddings are.
Guests moved in and out of rooms. The wedding planner spoke constantly into a headset as if coordinating a military operation.
My skirt hung in the closet of the bridal suite.
I had already checked on it twice, simply because seeing it calmed me.
Two hours before the ceremony, I went upstairs to get dressed.
I opened the door, walked straight to the closet, and pulled it open.
At first my brain refused to process what I was seeing.
The skirt hung crookedly. The fabric had been slashed into long, ugly tears. Dark stains spread across the patchwork.
One seam had been ripped so violently that several squares dangled loose.
I sank to the floor.
“No, no, no.”
The door clicked softly behind me.
“Oh, dear.”
I looked up.
