Divorce After Wedding Woes

The moment I stepped into the church in my white gown, I should have felt like the happiest woman alive. Instead, my stomach twisted with anxiety as I scanned the crowd for Beckett's reassuring smile. The organ music swelled around me, but something felt wrong—the whispers were too loud, the glances too pointed.

Then I saw her.

Emmy Walker stood in the third row, wearing a white dress that rivaled my own wedding gown. Her golden hair cascaded in perfect waves, and her smile held a secret I couldn't decipher. As our eyes met across the church, her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Who invited her?" I whispered to Sarah, my maid of honor, who squeezed my hand in silent support.

"I don't know, but ignore her. This is your day, Rose."

But it wasn't just Emmy's inappropriate attire that unsettled me. It was how she leaned toward the woman beside her, whispering details about our wedding that only someone intimately involved in the planning would know.

"The florist nearly used pink roses instead of white peonies," I overheard her say. "Beckett was so upset—he knows white peonies are my favorite."

My favorite flowers were lilies. The peonies had been Beckett's insistence.

I forced myself to look away, focusing instead on Beckett waiting at the altar. His smile seemed strained, his eyes darting occasionally to where Emmy sat. The minister's words blurred as I repeated my vows, the gold band suddenly heavy as it slid onto my finger.

* * *

The reception was a blur of congratulations and champagne that couldn't wash away my unease. I was making small talk with Beckett's aunt when the microphone squealed for attention. Emmy stood at the center of the room, champagne flute in hand, her white dress catching the light.

"I'd like to make a toast to the happy couple," she announced, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent room.

Beckett stiffened beside me, his hand tightening around mine until it hurt.

"Beckett and I have known each other since we were children," Emmy began, her smile beatific. "We've shared so many special moments together."

Something in her tone made my skin crawl.

"Like last summer at his family's lake house," she continued, her eyes finding mine across the room. "Remember that night under the stars on the dock, Beck? Or that weekend in the cabin last month when you said no one understood you like I did?"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I felt the blood drain from my face as she continued, each word a carefully placed dagger.

"The way you kissed me in the boathouse just two weeks ago..." Her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper that somehow carried to every corner. "You said our connection was something special—something that wouldn't change just because of a ring."

I couldn't breathe. The room spun as guests exchanged shocked glances. Some looked away in embarrassment; others stared openly, hungry for drama. Beckett's mother, Victoria, sat stone-faced, not a flicker of surprise crossing her features.

"Emmy, that's enough," Beckett finally said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"I'm just congratulating you," Emmy replied innocently. "And reminding Rose what she's getting into." She raised her glass. "To the bride—may you someday find what Beckett and I have always shared."

I stood frozen, humiliation burning through me like acid. Sarah appeared at my side, her arm around my waist the only thing keeping me upright.

"Let's get some air," she whispered, guiding me away as Beckett's best man wrestled the microphone from Emmy's grasp.

The rest of the reception passed in a nightmare of pitying glances and awkward conversations. Beckett avoided my eyes, spending most of the evening in hushed arguments with Emmy in corners where they thought I couldn't see.

By the time we reached the hotel, exhaustion had numbed me to the point where I just wanted this day to end. The bridal suite door had barely closed behind us when an insistent knocking shattered any hope of confronting my new husband about Emmy's revelations.

"Beckett! Open up!" Emmy's voice carried through the door, accompanied by male laughter.

When Beckett hesitated, I yanked the door open myself. Emmy stood there, arm linked with a tall man I didn't recognize, her white dress now stained with wine.

"You promised me the suite," she slurred, pushing past me into the room. "I told Jason we'd have the best room in the hotel tonight."

"What are you doing?" I gasped as she began rearranging the rose petals scattered across the bed.

"This room was always meant to be mine," she replied, her eyes cold despite her drunken sway. "Just like Beckett."

A sharp pain stabbed through my abdomen, doubling me over. I clutched at my stomach, a wave of nausea and dizziness washing over me.

"Emmy, get out," I heard Beckett say, but his voice seemed far away as another cramp tore through me.

Something was very wrong. As Emmy and her companion continued to disrupt our wedding night, I stumbled to the bathroom, collapsing against the cold tile floor as warm wetness trickled down my thighs.