Before I could press further, the line went dead.
I sat there with the dress in my lap, running my fingers over the fabric, trying to decide if I was about to walk into something I didn’t fully understand.
But one thing was clear.
Elena needed me.
And that mattered more than anything Mark had ever done to me.
The next few days were a blur of second-guessing. I tried the dress on more than once, pacing my apartment, imagining every possible outcome. My best friend Nicole listened patiently as I spiraled through every scenario.
“If this goes wrong, they’ll paint you as the crazy ex,” she said bluntly. “But if Elena’s asking you to do this, there’s a reason. Just don’t lose your nerve.”
On the morning of the wedding, I stood in front of the mirror longer than I needed to. My hands were slightly unsteady as I adjusted my hair, redoing my makeup twice before I was satisfied.
“You’re not doing this for him,” I told my reflection quietly. “You’re doing this for her. And for yourself.”
When I arrived at the venue, the effect was immediate.
The moment I stepped inside, conversations dipped, eyes turning toward me in quiet waves of recognition and curiosity. I could feel the weight of their attention, the whispers starting before I had even taken a full step into the room.
Then I saw Mark.
Across the space, his expression shifted from confusion to something harder to read. He looked at me as if I didn’t belong in the same reality as him anymore.
Maybe I didn’t.
Elena stood near the front, composed but watchful. When she saw me, she reached for my hand, her grip warm and steady.
“You look perfect,” she said softly.
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