Tenth Time Left at Altar

The chapel was adorned with white roses and crystal chandeliers, sunlight streaming through stained glass windows casting rainbow patterns across my designer gown. I stood before three hundred guests, my heart racing with anticipation as the string quartet played our carefully selected piece. This was it—our tenth attempt at marriage, and surely, nothing could go wrong this time.

I smoothed the silk of my Vera Wang gown, the fabric cool against my trembling fingers. The weight of my grandmother's diamond necklace felt reassuring against my collarbone. Ten times we had planned this day. Ten times I had believed in forever.

"You look beautiful," my mother whispered beside me, squeezing my hand. "This time will be different."

I nodded, forcing a smile. "It has to be."

Denver stood tall at the altar, his dark suit impeccable, his eyes meeting mine with what I thought was unwavering devotion. Just hours ago, he had promised this would be the day we finally became husband and wife.

"I won't let anything ruin this," he had whispered against my hair. "Nothing will come between us again."

I took a step forward, ready to begin my walk down the aisle when the heavy oak doors of the chapel burst open with such force that several guests gasped.

"Denver!" A woman's voice, high and desperate, cut through the music like a knife. "Denver, help me!"

My blood turned to ice as Samara Silva stumbled down the aisle, her face contorted in what appeared to be agony. Her mascara streaked down her cheeks, her breathing ragged and theatrical.

"I can't—I can't breathe," she sobbed, clutching at her chest. "The walls are closing in! I need you!"

The music screeched to a halt. Two hundred pairs of eyes swung from me to Samara, then to Denver.

"Denver," I whispered, reaching for his arm. "What is she doing here?"

But Denver was already moving toward her, his face transformed by concern. "Samara! What's happening?"

"She's having a panic attack," someone called out. "She needs help!"

"I'll take care of her," Denver announced, not even glancing back at me as he wrapped an arm around Samara's waist. "The wedding will have to wait."

"What?" The word escaped me in a broken whisper. "Denver, please—"

But he was already guiding Samara toward the exit, murmuring reassurances into her ear. I stood frozen in my wedding gown, the bouquet of white roses trembling in my grip.

"Denver!" I called out, my voice cracking. "Don't leave me here—not again!"

He paused at the doorway, looking back at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. "I'm sorry, Alexandra. She needs me."

Then they were gone, leaving me alone before hundreds of guests whose whispers grew louder by the second.

"Poor thing," an elderly woman muttered to her companion. "Ten times they've tried to marry, and he always runs off with that other girl."

I felt the weight of their stares, their pity, their judgment.

I took a step toward the door. "I need to go