Divorce After Wedding Woes

The moment I stepped into the church in my white gown, I should have felt like the happiest woman alive. Instead, my stomach twisted with anxiety as I scanned the crowd for Beckett's reassuring smile. The organ music swelled around me, but something felt wrong—the whispers were too loud, the glances too pointed.

Then I saw her.

Emmy Walker stood in the third row, wearing a white dress that rivaled my own wedding gown. Her golden hair cascaded in perfect waves, and her smile held a secret I couldn't decipher. As our eyes met across the church, her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Who invited her?" I whispered to Sarah, my maid of honor, who squeezed my hand in silent support.

"I don't know, but ignore her. This is your day, Rose."

But it wasn't just Emmy's inappropriate attire that unsettled me. It was how she leaned toward the woman beside her, whispering details about our wedding that only someone intimately involved in the planning would know.

"The florist nearly used pink roses instead of white peonies," I overheard her say. "Beckett was so upset—he knows white peonies are my favorite."

My favorite flowers were lilies. The peonies had been Beckett's insistence.

I forced myself to look away, focusing instead on Beckett waiting at the altar. His smile seemed strained, his eyes darting occasionally to where Emmy sat. The minister's words blurred as I repeated my vows, the gold band suddenly heavy as it slid onto my finger.

* * *

The reception was a blur of congratulations and champagne that couldn't wash away my unease. I was making small talk with Beckett's aunt when the microphone squealed for attention. Emmy stood at the center of the room, champagne flute in hand, her white dress catching the light.

"I'd like to make a toast to the happy couple," she announced, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent room.

Beckett stiffened beside me, his hand tightening around mine until it hurt.

"Beckett and I have known each other since we were children," Emmy began, her smile beatific. "We've shared so many special moments together."

Something in her tone made my skin crawl.

"Like last summer at his family's lake house," she continued, her eyes finding mine across the room. "Remember that night under the stars on the dock, Beck? Or that weekend in the cabin last month when you said no one understood you like I did?"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I felt the blood drain from my face as she continued, each word a carefully placed dagger.

"The way you kissed me in the boathouse just two weeks ago..." Her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper that somehow carried to every corner. "You said our connection was something special—something that wouldn't change just because of a ring."

I couldn't breathe. The room spun as guests exchanged shocked glances. Some looked away in embarrassment; others stared openly, hungry for drama. Beckett's mother, Victoria, sat stone-faced, not