When White Turns Away

The night before our wedding, my fiancée let her so-called "best friend" butcher the gown my late mother had sewn, chopping it into a revealing mini dress.

I rushed over with the ruined dress in my arms, ready to demand answers: only to catch their voices through the door:

"Imagine him expecting me to wear something a dead woman stitched. What a curse!"

Through the narrow gap, I saw my distant, frigid fiancée flushed with color, straddling his lap.

"What we did at the bridal shop wasn't enough," she murmured. "Tomorrow, walking down the aisle in this tiny dress you made me, it'll be even more exhilarating."

Their lips met.

My hand froze against the door, and inside, something broke with a soundless crack.

If she longed for thrills, I would grant her some.

The sound of running water whispered through the crack beneath the door, a secret conversation I was not meant to hear.

My chest tightened as I thought about the wedding dress, once a labor of love my mom sewed for a whole month, then just a chopped-up mini skirt that choked the air from my lungs.

It was only a month ago when Jane Lawrence, my fiancée, held my mom's frail hands on her deathbed, her eyes swimming with tears, and made a promise. "Mom, Seth and I will be together forever!" she said. "Just hold on a little longer. I want you to see us get married."

At the funeral, Jane clutched that same dress and wept so hard she nearly passed out.

I could not help but wonder if the girl who once treated the dress like a precious relic was the same one who just trashed it without a second thought.

The noise from the room faded, and I knew it was time to leave. I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text to my private investigator. It was time to find out what Jane was really up to.

I walked into my house, numb, and my gaze was immediately drawn to the massive wedding portrait on the living room wall. Jane's smile, once a beacon of joy, then seemed to mock me. I slumped onto the couch, lighting one cigarette after another, waiting for the night to drag on.

When Jane finally stumbled in, her steps uncertain, she found me in the dark and scowled. "What's wrong with you? Sitting here in the dark, trying to scare me?" she snapped. "I'm starving. I want spaghetti. Get on it, will you?"

I snuffed out my last cigarette, my voice rough as sandpaper. "How did the wedding dress fitting go today?"

Jane's face lit up with that familiar, guilty smile as she moved closer, wrapping her arms around me in her usual, cutesy way. "Honey, I'm so sorry! I messed up your mom's hard work," she cooed, "I was trying on the dress today, and I tripped. It got torn."

Her eyes brimmed with tears that never quite fell, and she planted a kiss on my cheek, a tried and true act of charm she pulled whenever she goofed up. It worked every time since we were together, but not tonight. Not anymore.

I shut my eyes tight, trying to still the storm of emotions raging inside me, and said,

"The wedding's tomorrow, and there's no time left to buy a wedding dress."

Jane's expression flipped in an instant, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

"Don't sweat it. I had Max, the designer, tweak the dress ages ago. It's gonna be stunning and totally in vogue!

"Tomorrow, just brace yourself for the best surprise ever at the wedding!"

With that, she skipped off to freshen up, acting like the whole dress disaster was ancient history.

A sarcastic smile played on my lips.

I trudged into the bedroom and immediately spotted the condom that slipped from my girlfriend's coat.

Jane caught sight of it and dove into my embrace, her words a clumsy attempt to deflect,

"Babe, can you believe how fast time's gone? We're about to tie the knot."

As she went on and on about her love for me, all I had to do was glance down to see the love bites on her neck and the bright finger marks on her chest.

She must be brimming with confidence to leave her cheating tracks so blatantly uncovered.

I watched her calmly as she babbled about our future, then I dropped the bomb,

"This wedding, why aren't you inviting your friends? Isn't that a bit rough on you?

"Maybe we should invite them so they can share in our joy."

"No!"

…

She cut me off mid-sentence, her brow furrowed as she quickly shot down my idea.

Her nails dug into my arm, leaving behind white marks as she fumbled for words,

"I don't really know those people; It'd just be awkward. Better to have the genuine well-wishes of family!"

I laughed inside, though I put on a show of being conflicted, "However, from your side, it's just your parents."

"Babe, I don't want our wedding to be a public spectacle. I'm not good with crowds, can't handle all those pesky relatives."