The Dress Was Never the Problem
On the day I went to try on my wedding dress, Enzo had said he would come with me—but he never showed up.
The train of the gown was too long. I stood alone in front of the mirror, bending over again and again to fix it more than a dozen times. The third time I stepped on the hem, my phone finally buzzed.
'Natalie just came back and isn't used to the weather here. I'll go pick her up. You try on the dress first.'
The next second, a new post popped up on social media. Natalie had uploaded a photo.
In it, Enzo was crouched in front of her, one hand wrapped around her slender ankle as he carefully fastened the strap of her high heels. The caption was only one line. 'He still couldn't bear to let me bend down.'
When I tapped into the post, I saw that Enzo had already liked it.
The bridal assistant sensed the shift in the air and tried to comfort me in a low voice. "Ms. Blackwood, Mr. Beck really cares about you. He was worried you might secretly diet and hurt your health, so he specifically told us not to alter the waistline any further."
I smiled.
He cared about me, yes. But his care had never stopped him from favoring someone else.
I lowered my head and looked at the wedding dress on my body.
Then it suddenly struck me. The thing that did not fit had never been the dress.
It was this wedding.