THE BRIDE WHO COULDN'T STOP SMILING
1645 Words
The alarm on Elena's bedside table rang at exactly six in the morning.
She opened her eyes before the second ring.
For a few seconds, she simply stared at the ceiling.
Then it hit her.
Today.
A smile slowly spread across her face.
She reached for her phone and checked the date even though she already knew it. She had checked it so many times over the past week that she could have recited it in her sleep.
Today was her wedding day.
"Finally," she whispered.
She sat up and pushed the blanket away.
Her feet touched the cold floor, but she barely noticed. She hurried toward the wardrobe where her wedding gown hung inside its protective cover.
She stopped in front of it.
For months, she had imagined this moment.
She had imagined waking up nervous. She had imagined crying. She had imagined being too excited to eat.
She had not imagined how happy she would feel.
Elena unzipped the garment bag and carefully pulled the gown out.
The white fabric fell around her like a soft cloud.
She touched the lace at the waist.
"You're really mine," she whispered.
She laughed at herself.
It was only a dress.
But to Elena, it represented everything she had been waiting for.
Eight years.
Eight years of loving the same man.
Eight years of growing up beside him.
Eight years of imagining the day when she would finally become his wife.
She carried the gown to the bed and laid it carefully across the sheets.
Then she turned toward the mirror.
Her hair was messy. Her face was bare. She had barely slept.
Yet she looked at her reflection and smiled.
"Mrs. Cross," she whispered.
She covered her mouth.
"Oh my goodness."
She laughed again.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door.
"Elena?"
Her mother's voice.
"Come in, Mum."
The door opened.
Her mother walked in carrying a small velvet box.
She stopped when she saw Elena standing beside the bed.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Her eyes became shiny.
Elena immediately pointed at her.
"No."
Her mother blinked.
"No what?"
"Don't cry."
"I'm not crying."
"You are about to."
"I'm not."
"Mum."
Her mother laughed, but a tear escaped anyway.
"Look at you," she said.
Elena smiled. "What?"
"Nothing. You just look so grown."
Elena rolled her eyes.
"I am grown."
"I know."
Her mother walked closer.
"But when I look at you, I still see the little girl who used to run into my room whenever there was thunder."
"I was five."
"You were twelve."
"Mum!"
Her mother laughed.
"And you still climbed into my bed."
"Because you said thunder was just noise."
"It was."
"You also said if I prayed, nothing bad would happen."
Her mother's smile faded slightly.
"I still believe that."
Elena looked at her mother for a moment.
Then she walked into her arms.
Her mother hugged her tightly.
Neither spoke.
For a moment, Elena felt like a little girl again.
Safe.
Home.
Her mother's perfume filled her nose, and something warm settled inside her chest.
"You are happy?" her mother asked quietly.
Elena pulled back.
"So happy."
"Are you sure?"
Elena frowned.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Her mother hesitated.
"No reason."
Elena studied her face.
"Mum, what is it?"
"Nothing."
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you say nothing when something is clearly something."
Her mother smiled.
"I'm just emotional."
Elena relaxed.
"You should be. Your daughter is getting married."
Her mother wiped her cheek.
"Yes. My daughter is getting married."
She placed the velvet box on the bed.
"There is something for you."
Elena looked at it.
"What is that?"
"Open it."
Elena picked up the box and lifted the lid.
Her smile softened.
Inside was a delicate gold necklace.
At the center hung a tiny cross.
She touched it carefully.
"This was Grandma's."
Her mother nodded.
"She wore it for years. Then she gave it to me."
"And now you're giving it to me?"
"Yes."
Elena looked up.
"Mum, I can't take this."
"You can."
"But—"
"It's yours."
Her mother picked up the necklace.
"Your grandmother wore this when she married your grandfather. I wore it when I got married. Now I want you to wear it."
She moved behind Elena and fastened the necklace around her neck.
Elena touched the cross.
"It feels strange."
"What does?"
"Like I'm carrying all of you with me."
Her mother smiled.
"You are."
Elena's eyes filled.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The door opened without a knock.
Her father stood there.
"Can I come in, or am I interrupting something?"
Elena turned.
"Dad."
He stared at her.
His expression changed.
He tried to smile.
It didn't quite work.
Elena laughed softly.
"Please don't cry."
"I'm not crying."
"Your eyes are wet."
"It's the morning."
"The morning made your eyes wet?"
Her father cleared his throat.
"Come here."
Elena walked toward him.
He pulled her into his arms.
She laughed against his chest.
"Dad, you're squeezing me."
"Let me."
He held her tighter.
"My princess."
Elena closed her eyes.
For all her twenty-something years, she had always been his little girl.
Even when she complained that he treated her like a child.
Even when he embarrassed her by calling her princess in front of her friends.
Even when she insisted she was old enough to make her own decisions.
She was still his little girl.
He pulled back and held her shoulders.
"Are you happy?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
She smiled.
"Very sure."
He nodded.
"Then I am happy."
He looked at the gown.
"That's the dress?"
"Yes."
"You picked it yourself?"
"Yes."
"It looks expensive."
Elena laughed.
"It wasn't."
"Your mother told me otherwise."
"Mum!"
Her mother laughed from behind them.
Her father shook his head.
Then his expression became serious.
"Elena."
"Yes?"
"Marriage is not a wedding."
She listened.
"The wedding lasts one day. Marriage lasts much longer."
"I know."
"When things become difficult, don't run."
"I won't."
"When you are angry, talk."
"I will."
"And when you are happy..."
He smiled.
"Remember to be grateful."
Elena nodded.
"I will, Dad."
He kissed her forehead.
"Good."
He paused.
Then he added softly, "And never forget that you can always come home."
Elena smiled.
"I know."
She did not know how important those words would become.
She did not know that before the sun set, she would remember them again and again.
***
By ten in the morning, the house was filled with people.
Cousins ran around the living room.
A makeup artist was arguing with someone over missing hairpins.
Her aunt was shouting that nobody had touched the food.
Her mother kept checking the time.
Her father had already called the driver three times.
Elena sat in front of the mirror while the makeup artist worked.
She couldn't stop smiling.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it.
A message from Damian.
Her heart jumped.
She opened it.
DAMIAN:
Are you ready?
Elena smiled.
She typed quickly.
ELENA:
I've been ready for eight years.
Three dots appeared.
DAMIAN:
Then today is finally here.
She stared at the message.
Her heart fluttered.
ELENA:
I love you.
There was a pause.
Then his reply came.
DAMIAN:
See you at the altar.
Elena pressed the phone against her chest.
"Mrs. Cross," she whispered.
The makeup artist laughed.
"You really love this man."
Elena smiled at her reflection.
"I do."
"How long have you been together?"
"Eight years."
The woman raised her eyebrows.
"Eight years?"
"Yes."
"Then today's not just a wedding. It's a celebration."
Elena smiled.
"Exactly."
***
The wedding hall looked beautiful.
White roses lined the aisle.
Small candles flickered beside the seats.
Golden ribbons were tied neatly around the chairs.
Soft piano music floated through the room.
People talked quietly.
Cameras flashed.
Elena stood at the entrance with her father.
Her bouquet trembled slightly in her hands.
"You are shaking," her father whispered.
"I'm nervous."
"You're smiling."
"I can't help it."
He chuckled.
"Still smiling?"
"Yes."
"You've been smiling since morning."
"Because I'm happy."
Her father looked at her.
"You really love him."
Elena nodded.
"I really do."
The music changed.
The wedding march began.
Everyone stood.
Her father offered his arm.
"Ready?"
Elena took it.
"Ready."
The doors opened.
She stepped forward.
Her smile remained.
She looked at her mother.
Her mother was already crying.
She looked at her friends.
They were smiling.
Then she looked ahead.
And saw Damian.
Her smile faltered.
He was standing at the altar.
Black suit.
Perfect hair.
Straight posture.
But something was wrong.
He wasn't smiling.
Elena slowed slightly.
Her father noticed.
"Are you okay?"
She forced a smile.
"Yes."
Damian wasn't looking at her.
He was looking somewhere beyond her.
Elena swallowed.
Maybe he was nervous.
That had to be it.
She continued walking.
Every step brought her closer.
Finally, she stood beside him.
Her father took her hand and placed it in Damian's.
"I give you my daughter."
Damian looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
He said nothing.
Elena smiled nervously.
"Hi."
His expression didn't change.
Her smile disappeared.
"Damian?"
Before he could answer, the pastor began.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—"
"Wait."
The pastor stopped.
The room became silent.
Elena stared at Damian.
"What?"
Damian took a breath.
Then he finally looked at her.
His eyes were cold.
"I'm sorry."
Elena's heart dropped.
"Sorry for what?"
Damian turned toward the guests.
"I can't do this."
The bouquet slipped slightly in Elena's hand.
"What?"
"I can't marry you."
Someone gasped.
Elena stared at him.
She waited for him to smile.
He didn't.
She waited for him to laugh.
He didn't.
Her lips parted.
"Damian..."
He looked away.
And Elena suddenly realized that the man she had loved for eight years had never looked so much like a stranger.
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