Ive always imagined I was marrying a successful businessman, yet the wedding day brought his actual wife and their three kids.
The dress is a oneoff piece, you cant simply recut it! shouted the designer, Simon Archer, flinging his arms dramatically. Its like asking Da Vinci to add a moustache to the Mona Lisa!
Im paying £500 for this gown and I need it to fit perfectly, I said, trying to stay calm while my heart hammered. You can see the excess fabric here. Ive lost weight over the past month.
You weighed the same at the last fitting! Simon retorted. Brides dont lose or gain that quickly. This dress was made to your original measurements.
Oliver, the ceremony is in three days. I dont have time for arguments. Please make the changes Ive asked for, I pleaded.
Simon gave me a skeptical glance but finally nodded. The dress did sit a bit loosely. Id shed five kilograms in the whirlwind of wedding planningnot from diets, but from endless errands and nerves. Invitations, venue, photographer, floristseverything fell on my shoulders. Oliver was too occupied with his business to worry about the minutiae.
Fine, Simon softened, pinning the dress. Well make a queen out of you. But stop losing weight, or I cant guarantee the result.
I smiled at my reflection. The white dress with its lace bodice and full skirt looked like something out of a fairy tale. I turned sideways, admiring the silhouette. In three days I would be Mrs. Oliver Sampson, owner of a construction firm and, by all accounts, the most charming man Id ever met.
My phone buzzed. A message from Oliver: Stuck in a meeting. See you tonight. Love you.
I swallowed a sigh. The third time this week. Business demands attention, and after the wedding wed finally have time for each other.
That evening, while waiting for Oliver at home, I sorted photos for the wedding album. There was our first seaside trip, a ski holiday in the Lake District, and the restaurant where he proposed. Ten months together before a wedding isnt long, but when you know hes the one, why wait?
The front door clicked open. Oliver, tired but smiling, dropped his jacket on the armchair and pulled me into a kiss.
Sorry Im late. Investors from Manchester needed urgent attention, he said.
No problem, I replied. Are you hungry? Ill heat up dinner.
Had a bite at the office, he muttered, eyes flicking to his phone. Tell me how the fitting went.
I described the temperamental designer; he nodded absentmindedly, glancing at his screen now and then.
Youre not listening, I noted.
Sorry, urgent matter, he typed quickly. What were you saying?
Never mind, I said, rising. Im going to shower. Its been a long day.
The water washed away fatigue but not the unease. Lately Oliver seemed distantperhaps wedding nerves, perhaps work pressure? I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and heard him whispering on the phone in the bedroom.
Yes, everythings fine. No, dont worry, Ive got it under control Yes Ill be home soon, he said.
I froze in the hallway. Who was he speaking to so tenderly? I slipped to the door.
Ill be home soon, he repeated before hanging up.
Home? He was already home. A knot tightened in my chest.
Who were you talking to? I asked.
He jumped, turning with a nervous smile. Victor, my deputy. We were discussing tomorrows meeting.
You said youd be home soon, I pressed.
What? I meant Id be at the office. Misspoke. Im exhausted, Eleanor, he laughed weakly. He pulled me close, his cologne mingling faintly with a whiff of something floralperhaps his secretarys perfume. I brushed it aside, assuming it was just a lingering scent from the office.
Three days and Ill be Mrs. Sampson, he murmured. Sounds lovely, doesnt it?
I nodded, pressing my head against his chest, trying to silence the doubts racing through my mind.
The next day I visited my friend Kate to pick up the beaded shoes she had been embellishing for the wedding.
You look worried, Kate said, pouring us tea. Prewedding panic?
I dont know, I admitted, swirling the cup. Yesterday was odd. Oliver was on the phone, said hed be home soon, even though he was already home.
Maybe he misspoke, Kate shrugged. And the perfume?
It smelleddifferent, I whispered.
Eleanor, youre being paranoid. He runs a company with a lot of female staff. A hint of perfume isnt surprising, Kate replied.
Probably right, I said, though the anxiety lingered.
We chatted about whether we were ready for marriage, how wed never truly lived together, and how his parents lived far away and would only attend the ceremony. Kate noted the lack of any of his business partners at the wedding, which seemed strange.
Later that evening I finally confronted Oliver in the kitchen while he was scrolling through a tablet and I was stirring a sauce.
Oliver, are we really ready for this? I began, nerves evident in my voice. We barely know each others families, Ive never been to your home, I hardly know any of your friends.
He looked up, surprised. What do you mean?
Weve talked about this a hundred times, he said, setting the tablet aside. Ive spent most of my time at your flat while my house is being renovated. Youll meet my parents at the ceremony. My friends I dont have many; Im a workaholic, you know.
Yes, but
No buts, he said, pulling me into a hug from behind. In two days youll be my wife. Well move into the new house Ive bought for us. A wonderful life awaits, I promise.
I nodded, though the house he described was still a mystery to me. He mentioned a surprise hed show me after the wedding.
Did you collect the rings from the jeweller yet? I asked.
He froze. Not yet. Ill go tomorrow.
Maybe I should? I suggested. I need them in that area.
No! Its my responsibility. Ive got it covered, he snapped, a bit too sharply.
That night I lay awake, Olivers steady breathing beside me, while I stared at the ceiling, trying to untangle my feelings. I loved him, trusted him, yet a part of me screamed that something was off.
The next morning Oliver left early for a work trip, saying he needed to settle matters before the wedding. I was alone, and I decided to call Victor, his deputy, to confirm the schedule.
Hello? a male voice answered.
This is Eleanor, Oliver Sampsons bride. I need details about tomorrows event, I said.
Excuse me? Victor sounded confused. What event?
Our wedding, I replied, feeling my stomach turn. Youre invited, arent you?
There was a long silence. I dont know any Oliver Sampson, Victor finally said. You must have the wrong number.
But youre his deputy at the construction firm
Im an accountant at a travel agency. Ive never worked in construction, he corrected.
Defeated, I hung up, sitting there feeling the floor give way beneath me. Who was this man I was about to marry?
I slammed open my laptop and typed the company name into a search engine. The results showed a few firms with similar names, but none listed an Oliver Sampson as director. Social media gave nothing. I dug through the box of photos and documents Oliver had left at my place, finding his passport, drivers licence, and a business card. The licence looked genuine, but the number on the card didnt exist when I called it.
Just then the front door openedOliver was back. I quickly shoved the papers back into the box.
What are you doing? he asked, kissing my cheek.
Looking at our photos, I fibbed. Tomorrow is a big day.
He smiled. Ive got the rings. Want to see?
He produced a velvet box; two gold bands glimmered inside.
Beautiful, I whispered, a lump forming in my throat.
Try them on? he offered, holding out the smaller one.
No, I recoiled. Bad luck. Youll wear them tomorrow.
He laughed. Superstitious, arent you? Lets keep it a surprise.
He smelled faintly of his cologne mixed with something floral again, but I told myself it was probably just the office.
Im heading to Kates for the nighttradition, right? The groom shouldnt see the bride before the ceremony, I said.
Of course, he replied. Ill be at a friends place. See you tomorrow, love.
He kissed me long and tenderly, as if for the last time. A tear slipped down my cheek.
At Kates house I poured out everything: the call to Victor, the deadend research, the strange scents.
Im afraid hes not who he says he is, I concluded, wiping my eyes.
Lets doublecheck his full name, Kate said, opening her laptop. Oliver Ian Sampson, born 15 May 1979.
She typed, browsed, and frowned. Nothing. No news articles, no LinkedIn profile. Usually a businessman of his stature shows up somewhere.
Maybe hes a recluse? I suggested weakly.
Or a fraud, Kate replied sharply. That fake Victor theyre trying to swindle you. For what? Money? Hes a teacher, you know, not wealthy.
We dont have a house, no car, I added. Just my parents flat.
You think he wants to disappear after the wedding, collect gifts, and vanish? Kate asked.
Its possible, I admitted. But I cant prove it.
That night I lay awake, the decision forming in my mind: I would go to the ceremony, face him, and ask why.
The wedding was set in a modest country inn just outside town. I arrived an hour early to change and collect my thoughts. Guestsmy parents, friends, a few colleagueswere already milling about. Olivers side was empty.
In the bridal suite, my friends fussed with my dress and hair. The gown fit perfectly, yet it felt like a foreign skin.
Olivers here, one whispered, glancing at the door. He looks dashing in his suit!
My heart thumped. The moment of truth was near.
Fifteen minutes before the ceremony, a silver minibus pulled up. A woman stepped out, welldressed, looking uneasy, followed by three children. She whispered something, and they obediently trailed her toward the entrance.
A chill ran down my spine. Something told me this was no coincidence. I slipped out of the room and headed for the main hall, where guests were gathering. I saw Oliver standing near the register, then the doors opened and the woman entered.
Silence fell. Oliver turned slowly; his face went pale.
Victor? the woman said, voice trembling. Whats happening?
I moved closer, still unsure of what was unfolding. Oliver or Victor? stood between two women, eyes darting.
Alice, he finally managed, what are you doing here?
What am I doing? Your mother called me, said you were getting married! Victor, we have three kids! she shouted, the children looking bewildered.
A murmur rose among the guests. I felt the floor tilt beneath me and clutched a nearby chair.
Oliver, I called out, voice shaking. Who is she?
This isnt Oliver, the woman snapped. Im Alice Harper. My husband is Victor Kline, manager at a car dealership. These are our children.
The boys and girl stared at Oliver, now visibly confused. The eldest, about ten, asked, Dad, why are you in a tux?
Quiet, Liam, Alice whispered, trying to calm him. Your father will explain.
Victor took a step forward, but Alice blocked him. Im not leaving until I know whats going on, she declared.
I approached the man Id thought I loved and asked, Whats your real name?
He lowered his head. Victor Kline.
Youre married?
Yes.
And these are your children?
Yes.
A wave of disbelief crashed over me. All the months of love, promises, future plans a lie.
Why? I asked, voice barely a whisper. Why pretend to be a businessman?
He stared at the gathered crowd, then at me, and whispered, I never meant for it to go this far. It just spiraled.
I pressed, You dated me for ten months, proposed, arranged a wedding and its all out of control?
He nodded, eyes downcast. I met you by chance. You were beautiful, smart. I wanted to impress you, so I made up a company. Then the lies kept building.
Alice snapped, Did you plan to disappear after the wedding? Take the gifts and run?
Its not I wouldnt do that to you, Eleanor, Victor protested weakly.
My name is Eleanor, I corrected, feeling the sting of the mispronunciation. But you lied to me, to my friends, to my family.
The silence was deafening. Guests stared, some with pity, others with anger.
You knew about my friends? Alice asked, eyes flashing. You knew Id be there?
I didnt expect you to show up, Victor muttered.
I turned to the children, Are you staying with your father? I asked gently.
Well go home, the boy replied, clutching his sisters hand.
Alice approached me, her face softening. You didnt know, did you? she asked.
No, I whispered, tears welling.
The wedding is cancelled, I announced to the hall, voice steadier than I felt. But the banquets paid for, the music booked. Lets just make the most of what we have.
I poured a glass of champagne, raised it, and took a sip. The room gradually filled with awkward laughter, some dancing, stories being shared. The bitterness of betrayal lingered, but a small fire of resilience sparked inside me.
Late that night, after the guests had left, I sat on the steps of the inn, still in my wedding dress. Kate joined me, offering a glass of water.
How are you? she asked.
Exhausted, I admitted. Deceived. Yet strangely grateful that the truth came out now, not later.
Youre amazing, Kate said, shaking her head. I dont know if I could hold together like you did.
Its a surprise to me too, I said, looking up at the darkening sky. Were stronger than we think.
We sat in quiet for a moment before Kate asked, What will you do now?
Ill return the dress to the designer, I said with a small smile. Then I dont know. Keep living, learn to trust again. Maybe Ill take a break, go somewhere sunny, no men.
Lets go on holiday together, Kate suggested. I have some savings set aside.
Sounds perfect, I agreed. Somewhere with sea and sun, and no more lies.
We laughed, feeling a weight lift from my chest. Life hadnt ended; it was just beginning a new chapter, my own, free from deception.
The next morning I woke on Kates couch, a blanket over me, sunlight streaming in. I stretched, feeling truly free for the first time in months free from illusion, from false love, from others expectations.
I opened my phone, logged onto social media, and posted: Sometimes loss is a discovery. Sometimes an ending is a fresh start. Thanks to everyone who stood by me yesterday. Your support means everything. I added: If my brokenwedding story helps even one woman avoid a similar fate, it wasnt for nothing. Share, comment, like. Love and truth always outshine deceit.
