She called it off with three words: “I don’t love you like I thought.” No tears. No explanation. Just a blank stare, a coldness that froze my blood. Our wedding was two months away. Everything was booked, paid for. My life savings, gone. Just like that. I tried to talk, to beg, to understand, but she just shut me out. It was a brick wall. The heartbreak was physical. A constant ache behind my ribs, a hollow echo in my chest where my future with her used to be. But what really twisted the knife was how everyone reacted. Her family, her friends, even some people I’d known for years – they all vanished. They cut me off. Blocked my calls. Unfollowed. It was like I was the villain, like I had done something unforgivable. No one said why. They just disappeared, leaving me alone with a mountain of non-refundable receipts and a broken heart. I’d paid for nearly everything. Every vendor. Every deposit.
Months passed in a blur of grief and anger. The silence was deafening. How could I have been so wrong about someone? My friends, seeing me waste away, finally staged an intervention. “Dude, just come. The resort’s paid for. Flights too. It’s a waste otherwise. Just… a vacation. Get away.” The resort we’d booked for our wedding, a place I’d curated every detail of, every romantic touch. The thought of it made me sick. But they insisted. Maybe a change of scenery would help. Maybe it would cleanse me of the ghost of what was supposed to be.
So, I went. The flight felt wrong. The arrival felt wrong. Every palm tree, every perfectly manicured bush, felt like a cruel joke. We were a week in, trying to enjoy ourselves, trying to pretend this wasn’t our honeymoon spot. We were at an outdoor dinner, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and tropical flowers, when I saw her.
Annabelle.
Our wedding planner.
She was across the lawn, near a draped gazebo, clipboard in hand, talking animatedly to a florist. My breath hitched. What was she doing here? She looked up, met my eyes, and her face went from professional calm to utter panic. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. She nearly dropped her clipboard, clutching it to her chest like a shield. A shiver ran down my spine. This wasn’t a coincidence.
Just then, a harried voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. “Annabelle! Hurry! JEN NEEDS HER SECOND DRESS!”
My blood ran cold. Jen. Jennifer.
A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. Annabelle, still staring at me, looked like a deer caught in headlights. The pieces started clicking into place, horrifying and impossible. NO. IT COULDN’T BE. I stood up, pushing past my friends who looked at me in confusion. I had to know. My legs moved on their own, a primal urge driving me forward. Annabelle tried to block my path, her arm outstretched, a whispered, desperate, “Wait!” But I pushed past her, my heart hammering against my ribs, a terrible certainty growing inside me.
I rushed into the adjoining ballroom, the doors already slightly ajar, and nearly fell when I saw it.
It was decorated. Candles everywhere. White roses. Fairy lights. Our colors. A string quartet played a soft melody. And there, under a magnificent floral arch, was Jennifer. Radiant. Breathtaking. In a wedding dress I’d never seen before.
And beside her, holding her hand, his eyes filled with adoration, was my older brother.
HE WAS SMILING.
It all made sense. The cold breakup. The sudden estrangement from everyone. The way they’d all cut me out. It wasn’t about her not loving me. It was about them, all of them, lying to my face for months. The second dress. This was her wedding. Their wedding. On the exact date we were supposed to be getting married. My brother, my own flesh and blood, was marrying the woman I loved, in the place I’d painstakingly chosen, with the people who had pretended to mourn with me. My vision blurred. The world spun. I didn’t make a sound. I just stood there, watching them, as Jennifer looked up at my brother, and he leaned down to kiss his bride.
