The Beginning to Almost part2
1862 Words
I found him quickly, the words already spilling out before I could stop them. The dress. The lace. The way it had felt when I saw myself in it. I tried to explain it all, my hands moving as if they could shape the memory into something real again.
I was smiling.
Bright. Un-contained.
He watched me carefully, something soft settling into his expression as I spoke.
When I finally slowed, he stepped closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
“It is so good to see you smiling again.”
The word lingered quietly between us.
I didn’t question it.
I just held onto the feeling.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night.
Excitement still raced through me, quick and restless, every detail of the day replaying in fragments behind my eyes. Every plan, every decision, every step closer to something that felt both certain and unfamiliar.
Morning came too quickly.
But there was no slowing down.
The next day was for venues.
Three different visions of what this wedding, this life, could look like.
And then we arrived at Grant-Humphreys Mansion.
The moment I stepped inside, something shifted.
The light filtered through tall windows in soft streams, catching against polished surfaces and delicate details that felt timeless rather than extravagant. It didn’t overwhelm.
It settled.
Wrapped itself quietly around you.
I didn’t need to say anything.
They saw it in my face.
This was the one.
From there, everything moved quickly, menus discussed, centerpieces imagined, colors layered carefully into place. Every decision is made with certainty, with purpose.
By the time we left,
A quiet satisfaction.
Another piece of the future locked into place.
The cake tasting with Dylan was… simple.
We sat across from each other, small plates between us, forks lifting bites of sweetness that blurred together after a while. Chocolate. Vanilla. Something fruity I barely registered.
“Try this,” he said at one point, sliding a plate slightly toward me.
I did.
Red velvet.
Rich. Smooth. Balanced perfectly with the cream cheese frosting.
I looked up.
He gave a small nod.
“That one.”
“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “That one.”
And just like that—it was decided.
No hesitation.
No discussion.
Just agreement.
Easy.
Invitations followed. My mother, Mrs. Edward, and Grandma Alda took control effortlessly, their voices weaving together as they discussed designs and details.
“Sapphire blue,” I said when they asked.
“And silver.”
They nodded, already building something elegant in their minds.
Everything was being handled.
Everything was moving forward.
With or without me catching up.
Then came the bridesmaids.
Fabric. Colors. Measurements. Laughter that rose and fell as dresses were chosen, adjusted, approved. There wasn’t time to second-guess anything.
There wasn’t time to slow down.
And maybe that was the point.
Because in families like ours—things don’t fall apart.
They came together.
Perfectly.
By the time we stepped out of the bridal store, the air had shifted again, the warmth of the day giving way to something softer, quieter.
I exhaled slowly, the weight of everything settling just slightly.
Behind me, one of my bridesmaids slowed.
A faint murmur.
A subtle shift.
“…wait”
I turned.
Followed the direction of her gaze.
And then
Everything inside me went still.
Across the street, just beyond the flow of passing cars and fading light
Dylan.
Standing close.
Too close.
And beside him
Julia.
I saw them before they ever noticed me.
For a moment, the world didn’t shatter—it simply tilted, like something had slipped out of place and refused to settle back. Dylan leaned in slightly as Julia spoke, his head tilted in that quiet, attentive way I had come to recognize. The space between them felt intimate, familiar—practiced
A small laugh escaped him—low, unguarded—and something inside my chest tightened sharply, like a thread pulled too hard. I had never heard that sound directed at me. Not once.
I kept walking.
My heels struck the pavement in even, measured clicks, as if I hadn’t just watched my fiancé look at another woman the way a man should look at the woman he loves. I didn’t slow. I didn’t turn. If I stopped, even for a second, I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep myself together.
This was the second time.
The second time I had seen them like this—together, unaware, untouched by the life he was supposed to be building with me.
And still, he had no idea that I knew.
The bridal boutique welcomed me with warmth I couldn’t feel.
Soft golden light spilled over rows of gowns, the air filled with the faint scent of fabric and pressed lace. The seamstress greeted me with a smile, her hands already reaching for the dress that was meant to change my life.
“Let’s see our bride,” she said gently.
Bride.
The word felt foreign.
The dress slid over my skin like something delicate and fragile, the fabric cool at first, then warming against me. It fit better than it had before—perfectly, almost. The bodice hugged my waist, the lace tracing soft patterns along my shoulders.
When I stepped in front of the mirror, I paused.
For a moment, I tried to see what everyone else would see.
A bride. A woman about to be loved, chosen, cherished.
But the reflection didn’t quite hold.
Because I knew the truth behind it.
Dylan had never looked at me like that. Never reached for me, never brushed his fingers against mine just because he wanted to. Not a single kiss. Not a single moment where I felt like more than… an obligation.
“You look beautiful,” the seamstress said, adjusting the hem.
I nodded, forcing a small smile.
One more fitting after this.
One more step closer to something I wasn’t sure I could survive.
And still, all I could see—no matter how hard I tried—was Dylan standing too close to Julia, smiling like he belonged there.
A week before the wedding, I saw her.
She was waiting outside the boutique, as if she had always been part of this story—just hidden in the margins until now.
Julia stood near the entrance, composed, certain. She didn’t look surprised to see me. If anything, she looked like she had been expecting this moment.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
There was no hesitation in her voice.
I should have walked past her.
Instead, curiosity—sharp and unwelcome—rooted me in place.
“Sure,” I said.
The café next door was quiet, wrapped in the low hum of conversation and the clink of porcelain. We sat across from each other, a small table between us that felt like a line drawn in sand.
Two lattes arrived, untouched.
I waited.
Julia didn’t.
“How can you marry a man that does not love you?”
The words were calm. Measured. As if she were stating something obvious.
My fingers curled slightly in my lap, but I said nothing.
“You know he will only ever love me,” she continued, her gaze steady on mine. “You’re forcing him into something he doesn’t want. A life he’ll resent.”
The air felt heavier, harder to breathe.
“If you care about him,” she said, leaning forward just enough to close the distance, “you’ll let him go.”
I swallowed, my throat dry.
“I love him,” she added softly. “And he loves me.”
Something inside me wavered, then steadied.
“This marriage isn’t my decision,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended, but firm enough to hold. “Dylan explained that to you, didn’t he? He can’t just choose differently.”
Her expression tightened, just for a second.
“Sherry, please,” she said, and now there was something more urgent beneath her calm. “Don’t do this.”
I held her gaze. “Has Dylan told you he wants out?”
Silence.
Not long—but long enough.
“Not in so many words,” she admitted. “But I know him. He’s doing this because he has to.”
Because he has to.
The words echoed.
I pushed my chair back, the sound scraping sharply against the floor.
“That’s not enough,” I said.
Her eyes hardened. “I’ll never forgive you if you go through with this.”
A strange, hollow feeling settled in my chest.
“I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”
And with that, I walked away.
The car door closed, and everything I had been holding in shattered.
Tears came without warning, blurring the world outside into streaks of color and light. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to quiet the sound that threatened to escape, but it didn’t help.
A week.
In one week, I would stand beside him, promise my life to him… while he gave his heart to someone else.
I had seen it with my own eyes.
Twice.
And still, he had never once looked at me that way.
The days that followed dissolved into something shapeless.
I avoided Dylan whenever I could. When I couldn’t, I kept my distance—careful, controlled, distant in ways he didn’t seem to notice. He spoke to me the same as always—polite, composed, untouched.
As if nothing was wrong.
As if I wasn’t unraveling right in front of him.
Every time I looked at him, I saw it again—his smile, her reflection in his eyes, the ease between them.
Julia’s voice lingered, threading through my thoughts.
He will never love you.
The night before the wedding arrived, the words no longer felt like a warning.
They felt like a certainty.
Her message came just after dark.
I’m outside.
I stared at the screen, my pulse quickening, a quiet dread settling deep in my stomach.
I should have ignored it.
I didn’t.
When I stepped onto the porch, the night air wrapped around me—cool, still, heavy with something unspoken.
Julia sat on the swing, gently swaying, as if she had every right to be there.
As if she belonged.
“What do you want now, Julia?” I asked, my voice sharper than I felt.
She looked up at me, her expression calm—too calm.
“I thought you would have come to your senses by now.”
A flicker of anger sparked in my chest.
“I told you,” she continued, rising slowly to her feet, “He will never love you. He will never be with you the way a husband should be with his wife.”
“You don’t know that,” I spat, the words escaping before I could stop them.
Her lips curved slightly—not quite a smile.
“Yes I do.”
She reached into her bag, pulling out her phone, her movements unhurried.
And then—
That’s when she played the recording where Dylan promised her he would never love me, never touch me.
- Writer
