Snatched at the Altar: I Changed Grooms

"Charlene, my friend, Shawna Wagner, who works at the marriage registry office, helped me look into it, and you are definitely not Nicholas' spouse," Verna Dailey, my friend, said.

I put down my phone. Something in my chest quietly shattered.

Nicholas Tanner and I had been married for five years. But no matter what I did during those five years, his parents could never accept me.

His mother, Irene Barnes, never mentioned my name in front of outsiders. Instead, she'd only call me "that woman from the mountains".

At family banquets, I was always seated in the most peripheral spot. In group photos, I was always placed on the edge, so that I could be easily cropped out if needed.

Nicholas didn't want me to feel slighted, so he had me return to the village first. He told me to wait until he had followed my family custom—after the bride heist and all the rituals were completed—then he would properly bring me back to live with him.

Thus, I obediently returned.

Even though we spent more time apart than together, to outsiders, we seemed loving and harmonious.

After three years of waiting—of holding back words I longed to say and pinning everything on that night—he came for another woman.

He fooled me with a fake marriage certificate for three years, just to keep me from discovering that the one he truly intended to steal away was my stepsister, Tricia Melton.

I looked at the expressionless woman in the mirror, not knowing whether I felt joy or sorrow.

Soon, noise erupted in the yard. The bride heist had begun.

Voices called out, "They're here! They're here!" Laughter rang through the air. Footsteps scuffled past in a hurry, while some made a point of standing in the way.

The torchlight lit up half the sky in red. The celebration belonged to them—and to Tricia.

The other group was the bride heist team from the neighboring village. They had originally come to seize Tricia.

According to custom, if the woman was unwilling, she could've slipped away long before and let them come all this way for nothing. However, Tricia didn't.

She'd been waiting inside the room the whole time, waiting to be taken. And the one she was waiting for was my husband, Nicholas.

The room I was in now wasn't the one I usually stayed in; it belonged to Tricia instead.

My stepmother, Patty Parish, called me over that afternoon. She took my hand and, with a rare gentleness, said, "Charlene, during the bride heist tonight, stay here in Tricia's room.

"Your room is further inside and quieter, making it harder for the heist crew to find. But the group that is coming for Tricia? They're thugs. You've been tough since you were a child, so you can take a beating—unlike Tricia, who's frail. It would be terrible if she got hurt by mistake."

I didn't say a single word, because I knew exactly what she meant.

According to the village custom, during the bride heist, the groom's friend would charge in first to seize the bride.

The bride was supposed to resist, struggle, and fight with everything she had to keep from being carried off. This was called "the tussle".

The fiercer the tussle and the harder she fought, the more it proved her worth.

The groom's side had to give it everything they got to carry her away. The fists flew, the shoves were real, and every blow found its mark.

Patty sighed, looking as though she were about to speak from the heart. She studied my face cautiously and said, "Besides, Nicholas is Ashvarian, so he's not familiar with our customs. If you stay in the front room, it'll save him from having to tear the whole house apart looking for you."

Back then, to make things easier for Nicholas, I agreed to Patty's suggestion. I had even sent him a text with the location of my room. But little did I know, they'd been planning this switcheroo all along.

A sudden uproar erupted outside, louder than before.

Someone shouted, "We got her! We got her! The bride's been taken!"

People laughed, voices egged them on, and party poppers exploded in a staccato clatter.

I cocked my head and listened for a moment, but I remained where I was.

I knew who they had seized.

I could even picture Nicholas stumbling and charging through the crowd with Tricia on his back, his friends flanking him on both sides.

People deliberately blocked their way, some throwing things at them.

Tricia buried her face against his back, pretending to struggle a little.

How nice.

I lowered my eyes and didn't look.

Before long, the door to my room was slammed open.

A crowd surged in from the darkness, footsteps heavy and chaotic.

Someone grabbed my arm. Fists and hands came at me from all directions.

I felt the blows land on my shoulders and back, neither gentle nor brutal. That was the custom of the tussle.