Just minutes before we stood at the altar, my bride Emily handed me a folded note with five words that nearly stopped my heart: “Say no at the altar.”
At first, I thought it was a joke. But when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see panic — I saw determination. She asked me to trust her. And though I didn’t understand, I chose to believe in her.
Emily and I had met three years earlier at work. While others focused only on deadlines, she noticed people — their struggles, their joys, the things that often went unseen. She was the kind of person who sent food to a coworker during a hard time or quietly covered for someone who needed space to care for family. That kindness drew me to her, and it was what made me certain she was the woman I wanted to marry.
When we got engaged, Emily poured her heart into planning our wedding. She even brought out an old scrapbook from her childhood filled with clippings and doodles of her dream day. The only shadow over the excitement was her stepmother, Margaret. With sharp words and constant criticism, Margaret often made Emily feel small. She questioned her choices, rolled her eyes at details Emily loved, and seemed determined to dampen her joy. Still, Emily kept her close for her father’s sake.
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