ows, my heart quietened down—finally realizing what was about to come.

“I don’t,” I said softly, more to the ground than to Ryan.

“Speak louder, Hanna,” the priest said.

“I don’t!” I said more confidently, the words echoing like a resounding shockwave.

Ryan’s shock morphed into confusion as I repeated those two words again.

“Hanna? What?” he asked, hurt and betrayal deep in his voice.

“Ask your mom,” I said, pointing at Audrey.

“Mrs. Cole, please tell everyone what you told me earlier.”

The church hushed immediately, as if everyone were holding their breath. With shaking hands, she opened her bag and took out her phone.

Like earlier, she held it out to me.

“Look,” I said to Ryan.

Ryan took a step back, almost falling over the wedding arch.

“That is not me, Hanna!” he said loudly. “Hanna, you know it’s not me!”

I refused to look him in the eye.

Then he confronted his mother.

“Mom, what is all this? What is that?

Where did you get that video?”

Audrey shook her head and walked down the aisle, leaving the church in silence.

I could not bear to hear Ryan’s excuses.

“Hanna, please,” he said. “I need you to believe me.”

And I wanted to. Of course, I wanted to believe the man I loved.

But it was clear, the jacket that I bought him lay across the bed in the video. He had been with someone else.

And if there was the possibility that he wasn’t with another person—how would he explain the video? And the woman who was barely dressed?

And the sound effects?

“I can’t do this,” I said. “I won’t.”

I ran out of the side door, my parents following closely behind.

Ryan continued to reach out to me for the rest of the day—and when night settled, I finally blocked his number.

Yet, two days later, when I was wrapped in a blanket wondering where everything had gone wrong—Ryan showed up at my parents’ house with takeout and flowers.

“You expect this to fix everything?” I asked.

“I need to talk,” he said simply.

Against my better judgment, I listened.

What Ryan revealed next sent me down another spiral.

He had confronted Audrey after the wedding.

“I went straight to her house,” he said. “She was sitting there, in her kitchen, eating toast and listening to old records as though she hadn’t just ruined our wedding.”

“I think you did that,” I blurted out.

“Hanna,” he warned.

“My mother orchestrated that video. The people in it are her students. And it was all because she didn’t want us to get married.”

My jaw hit the ground.

Audrey was a high school teacher—but she also tutored first-year college kids in English.

So, when it truly came down to the fact that Ryan and I were actually getting married, she panicked. She called two of her college students, who were too eager to make a bit of extra money, to play the part.

“I thought she liked me,” I said while digging into the food Ryan had brought over. “Clearly she doesn’t if she put an entire video together.”

“She did say that the sounds were edited,” Ryan chuckled nervously.

“But I’ve got to hand it to her, adding my jacket was a good touch.”

I didn’t understand how I felt. For the past two days, since walking away from my own wedding—I convinced myself that Ryan had been the bad guy in my story. That he was the villain who broke my heart, while his mother exposed him for who he was.

And yet, the reality was so much worse.

Here was a woman who had claimed me as the daughter she never had, only to break my heart before marrying her son.

She believed I was unworthy of Ryan.

I forgave Ryan immediately, and he did the same in return—I did accuse him of cheating on me in front of all our guests.

We’re still together, but I don’t know what the future holds.

For now, I feel hurt and betrayed by Audrey. And I know that forgiveness will be difficult to come by for her.

What would you do?

Maya, as a wedding planner, is used to crazy weddings. So, when her wedding rolls around, she thinks that she has planned everything right down to the final detail.

Until her fiancé goes missing and her mother-in-law plots for the end of their relationship…

As a wedding planner, I’ve had my fair share of crazy weddings. From bridezillas to lazy grooms, to the most insane requests. Once, I had a couple who wanted to say their vows on a hot air balloon — only for the bride to realize that she was afraid of heights.

For my wedding, I was so sure that Fred and I were ready.

That we had finally gotten everything done right. But I even so, I wanted my colleague, Jenna, to take over the logistics behind the wedding. I wanted to have my moment as a bride.

Fred knew that I was in my element when it came to our wedding, so he left everything to me — other than making sure that there would be sliders are the wedding reception, everything was on me.

We met Jenna in a restaurant about a year before our wedding, and I gave her everything she needed to know in a planner.

It was going to be easy for her — all she needed to do was the admin behind the plans. And to bring the vision to life.

“Maya,” she said, sipping on her drink. “This is perfect.

You’ve planned everything.”

Everything was ticking along perfectly, with each detail meticulously planned and poised for what was meant to be the happiest day of our lives.

Until three nights before the wedding, when all hell broke loose.

It must have been around 8PM, and I was unwinding by watching reality television and eating a slice of pie.

I had my nail appointment the next morning, and I was finally starting to feel like a bride. In the past few weeks, Fred and I seemed to find anything and everything to fight about. We argued with no reason, until it was time to sleep.

At least, this week, Fred was staying with his best man.

“Just to get him out of your hair for a bit, Maya,” he said.

“You’ll get no complaints from me,” I told him.

“Just keep him out of trouble.”

But it’s never so simple, right?

No. My doorbell rang, disrupting my night in.

The person standing on the other side was a delivery man, holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

“That’s beautiful,” I said. “Who is it from?”

“There’s a card, ma’am,” the delivery man said.

He handed the bouquet to me and turned around to walk down the stairs.

“Oh, Fred,” I said, sniffing the flowers.

Sending me random flowers was something that he would do.

But then I read the card and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.

I Don’t was written on the card.

All the air inside my lungs suddenly went out.

I sat down on the couch and cried my heart out.

After a few hours, I called Fred about twenty times. He never picked up.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.