I never imagined I’d be the kind of bride to cry over a wedding dress.

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 I never imagined I’d be the kind of bride to cry over a wedding dress. 

But there I was, standing in front of the mirror at Magnolia Bridal, fighting back tears and clutching my chest to keep from falling apart.


“Oh, sweetheart,” my mom said, squeezing my hand. “You look stunning. Like it was made for you.”


I turned to face her, tears shimmering in my eyes as I twirled, letting the full skirt of the dress sweep around me like a dream. The lace, the beading, the way it fit—it was everything I had imagined for my wedding day with Eric.


“This is the one,” I whispered.


A week later, I was still floating on air. I’d hung the dress carefully in the spare room closet, zipped in its protective garment bag. But every now and then, I’d sneak in just to look at it.


“You and that dress,” Eric joked one evening, smiling at me as I tiptoed back into the living room.


“Can you blame me? In three weeks, I get to wear it and marry the love of my life,” I beamed.


He kissed my forehead. “I’m the lucky one.”


But I had no idea how fast that perfect world was about to shatter.


It was a Tuesday. I had the day off work and planned to finalize seating charts and other details. I went to check on my dress—just a quick peek.


But when I opened the closet door, something was wrong.


The zipper on the garment bag was open. My heart stuttered. Then I saw it—my wedding dress was scorched. Burn marks seared through the delicate bodice and down the skirt like a cruel scar.


I dropped to my knees. A strangled cry left my throat. This couldn’t be happening.


With shaking fingers, I called my mom.


“Paige? What’s wrong?”


“The dress,” I gasped. “Mom… it’s ruined. Someone… someone burned it.”


“What?! Stay put. I’m coming.”


I hung up and dialed Eric.


“Hey, babe,” he answered cheerfully.


“My dress,” I managed. “Someone destroyed it.”


There was a pause. “What? That’s… are you sure? Maybe it was an accident? Like a wiring issue or something?”


His response felt off. Too calm. Too quick. Still, I was too distraught to argue. “Can you come home?”


“I’m slammed with meetings, but I’ll be there soon, okay? Try to breathe. We’ll figure it out.”


But I couldn’t stop the rising dread in my stomach. Something didn’t add up.


When Mom arrived, she took one look at the damage and said, “This wasn’t an accident. These are burn marks from an iron.”


An iron?


I racked my brain. No one had been in that room except Mom—and Nathan, Eric’s best friend, who had stopped by a few days ago.


Then I remembered: the security cameras Eric had installed when we moved in.


I opened the app on my phone and rewound the footage.


And there it was.


Eric. My fiancé. Calmly entering the guest room with an iron in hand. He unzipped the garment bag, stared at the dress,... (continue reading in the 1st comment)

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