I was moments from walking down the aisle when I found a folded note tucked inside my bouquet. The handwriting was unmistakable—Susan’s. My best friend. My maid of honor. My heart dropped. I read the message once, then again, as my world collapsed. She was pregnant. And the father? Ben. My fiancé. The man waiting at the altar. I bolted from the bridal suite, heels clicking like gunshots, searching for Susan. I needed answers before I could face the crowd—or Ben.
I found her sobbing in the garden, mascara streaked and shoulders shaking. I held up the note like a weapon. “How could you do this to me?” I asked, voice trembling. She whispered, “I couldn’t let you marry him without knowing.” Her betrayal cut deeper than Ben’s. Eight years of friendship, shattered in seconds. I read the words aloud: “I’m pregnant, and Ben is the father.” The truth tasted like poison. I dropped the bouquet at her feet and walked away.
Inside the chapel, guests murmured, confused. Ben stood at the altar, searching for me. I stepped forward, voice steady but broken. “The wedding is off,” I announced. “Ben and Susan had an affair. She’s pregnant.” Gasps echoed. Ben’s face drained of color. My father shouted. Susan’s name rippled through the crowd. I turned and walked out, leaving behind the ruins of what should’ve been the happiest day of my life.
Emma caught up with me outside, wrapped her arm around my shoulders, and whispered, “Let’s get you out of here.” I nodded, tears finally falling. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but I knew one thing: I deserved better than lies wrapped in roses. And I wasn’t going to let betrayal define me.
