The night before my wedding, I got a strange text from one of my fiancé’s coworkers: “Check his laptop. Please.” No explanation, just those words. My heart raced as I opened it while he showered.
At first, nothing. Then I saw a folder with my name on it. Inside were hundreds of messages and photos—my fiancé and my sister. They called each other baby, joked about me, even mapped out a future together. Every word shredded the life I thought I was building.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t even confront him. I just closed the laptop, sat in silence, and let the weight crush me.
By morning, I knew what I had to do. I left my wedding dress neatly folded on the bed, slipped off my engagement ring, and walked out. No note, no excuses, no phone calls.
While guests whispered at the altar and my family searched for answers, I was already gone—my phone turned off, the ring sinking in the river. They wanted each other, and now they could have exactly that. The only gift I left behind was my absence.
