I can’t believe I couldn’t talk myself out of this wedding crashing idea. I look down at my black dress, a contrast to the white one I would see later. Life isn’t like it is in the movies. He’s not going to leave her at the altar. It’d be ridiculous to believe he’ll run away with me. But don’t I have to at least try?
I refuse to go the rest of my life wondering, wishing, waiting for their inevitable divorce. I snort at that last thought. A couple getting out of their car look over at me. I don’t recognize them. They must be on the bride’s side. That bitch. As I walk toward the door my body shakes. Anyone would be terrified at this moment. I stand at the back slowly stepping one foot into the chapel. There he is. His suit pressed flat, obnoxiously perfect. I see he hasn’t changed. Then a young woman rushes past me.
“She’s not coming,” she says. The best man turns to the groom, to him.
“She’s left, changed her mind. I don’t know what to say man, I’m sorry,” he says patting the groom’s arm.
I freeze as I watch the groom walk out of the chapel. He looks neither sad, nor worried, but also not relieved. He doesn’t seem shocked. He has just been rejected but feels nothing. That’s when I realize it. I don’t want him either. Her decision saves me. I owe her.
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