Left Behind on My Wedding Day

On my wedding day, the first love of my boyfriend appeared and declared she wanted my place at the altar.

Sobbing theatrically, she pleaded, "Claire, I’m seriously ill. You have your whole life to be with Evan. Just let me have this wedding."

And my boyfriend backed her up without hesitation. "Claire, you’re already pregnant with my child, and we’ve signed the marriage papers. You’ve got everything you need. This wedding? It doesn’t matter."

The guests gawked, while I stood there as the punchline of their jokes.

But instead of causing a scene, I kept my composure. That same day, I booked an abortion and looked his first love straight in the eye with a smile.

"Sure, take the wedding, and take him too. He’s all yours."

"Claire, what nonsense are you spouting?" Evan Scott, my boyfriend, reached for me while keeping his grip tight on Anne Walsh's hand.

I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. He clutched his cheek, staring at me in disbelief.

Anne lifted her skirt and hurried over, shielding Evan protectively as she whimpered delicately, "Claire, please calm down and don’t hurt Evan. I don’t want this wedding anymore. I’ll give the gown back to you. I can just die alone."

With that, she made a show of trying to take off the wedding dress she was wearing, but Evan quickly stopped her.

"Anne, this dress was always meant for you. This wedding should have been yours from the start!"

He carefully straightened every seam and bow of her gown, leaving nothing untouched. The pristine white dress made her look so fragile and delicate, even more dazzling and brittle than the chandeliers above.

This was the gown Evan had picked out for me, yet it fit her perfectly. Suddenly, I realized why the dress felt off when I tried it on—why I wanted alterations. Evan had insisted it couldn’t be adjusted because it was custom-made.

Now, I understood. It was always meant for Anne.

I laughed bitterly, a sound that caught Evan’s attention.

"Claire Wood, are you satisfied now? Do you really have to push her to the brink? Think about the child in your stomach. If you don’t want them to be born as an illegitimate child, you’d better behave and stop making a scene!"

The wedding march began to play. Flower girls scattered rose petals down the aisle as Evan, arm in arm with Anne, walked into the venue under the admiring gaze of the crowd.

As the piano played its joyful melody, a symbol of happiness, I called the hospital to book an abortion.

The guests whispered, as if I were the intruder, while the radiant couple on stage basked in their moment of glory.

When their vows of love echoed through the hall, I couldn’t bear the probing stares any longer and fled in humiliation.

Before I left, I glanced at my family sitting in the front row. They didn’t look surprised at all that the bride had changed.