The champagne flutes clinked, a symphony of joy against the thumping bass of the band. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow on faces flushed with laughter and love. My closest friend, radiant in white, spun on the dance floor, her eyes locked with her new spouse. It was a perfect night, everything she’d dreamed of, everything I’d helped her plan for months.
And I was dying inside.He was here. Standing by the bar, nursing a whiskey, his gaze occasionally sweeping the room. Our eyes met once, just a fleeting second, but it was enough to send a cold spear through my chest. He looked exactly the same. A little older, maybe, a little more lines around those familiar eyes, but still capable of making my breath catch.
It had been years. Years since he’d walked away, leaving me shattered without a word, without a reason. We were planning a future. A house, kids, a life together. Then, a quiet coffee shop meeting, a polite, distant tone, and the words, “I just don’t think this is working anymore.” No explanation. No argument. Just… gone. I spent months replaying every moment, dissecting every conversation, searching for a clue I never found. I thought I’d healed. I’d built a new life, a good one. But seeing him tonight, amidst all this manufactured happiness, felt like reopening a wound I’d carefully bandaged, only to find it was festering underneath.
An upset man | Source: Pexels
My friend, bless her heart, had insisted on inviting him. “He’s part of our old group!” she’d chirped, oblivious to the earthquake his presence would cause within me. She knew what he did. She saw me crumble. But here he was, a ghost from a painful past, casually enjoying the open bar.
I forced a smile, accepted another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “You look great!” someone shouted over the music. I nodded, feigning enthusiasm. My stomach churned. Every laugh felt hollow, every conversation a performance. I watched my friend on the dance floor, her happiness so absolute, so pure. I loved her, truly. She deserved this joy. And yet, a tiny, venomous seed of resentment began to sprout in my gut. Why did she get this perfect ending, while mine was ripped away so violently?
I tried to avoid him. I ducked into the bathroom, spent too long fussing with my hair. I mingled with distant relatives, discussing the weather. But he was always there, a magnetic pull in the periphery of my vision. I saw him talking to old friends, laughing, his head thrown back in that way that used to make my heart ache with love. Now, it just ached.
Later, as the evening mellowed, the music softened. People began to spill out onto the veranda, seeking cooler air. I needed a moment, a breath. I slipped away from the main hall, needing to escape the suffocating presence of my past. I found a quiet corner near the rose garden, the scent of blooming flowers a welcome distraction.
Then I heard voices. Quiet, hushed. Familiar voices.
My friend. And him.
They were just around the corner, hidden by a large trellis. My first instinct was to retreat, to not interrupt. But something held me there. Their tone was too intimate, too low. I froze, unable to move, unable to speak.
“Are you okay?” my friend’s voice, soft, laced with concern.
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice a familiar rumble that still gave me shivers. “Just… weird seeing her, you know?”
An upset woman | Source: Freepik
Seeing me? A sharp pain. He still thinks about me? A foolish hope flickered, quickly extinguished by dread.
“I know it’s hard,” she murmured. “But it was the right thing to do. For both of us.”
WHAT?! My blood ran cold. What was the right thing to do? My mind raced. What did she mean by ‘both of us’?
He sighed. “I just wish it hadn’t hurt her so much. God, I loved her.”
A gasp caught in my throat. Loved me? Then why?
Then my friend spoke again, her voice barely a whisper, filled with a tenderness that clawed at my soul. “I loved her too. So much. But I loved you more. I couldn’t stand seeing you with her anymore. I couldn’t stand not being able to have you.“
The words hit me like a physical blow. A sudden, deafening silence descended. My knees buckled. My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a scream.
No. NO. This can’t be real.
I heard him respond, his voice choked with emotion. “I know. And I… I couldn’t resist you. Not after all those years of just watching. It was selfish. We were selfish.“
My best friend. My closest confidante. The woman I had shared every secret with, every dream, every heartbreak. The woman whose wedding I was celebrating tonight. She didn’t just know why he left me. She was the reason.
A serious man | Source: Pexels
The ground beneath me felt like it was crumbling. The world spun. Every conversation we’d ever had, every comforting hug after he’d left me, every sympathetic ear she’d lent, it all warped into a grotesque, sickening lie. She wasn’t just my friend; she was his lover. She hadn’t just witnessed my pain; she had orchestrated it.
I stumbled back, tripping over the hem of my dress. A small gasp escaped my lips.
They immediately stopped talking. I heard a rustle, a quick movement.
“WHO’S THERE?!” my friend’s voice, suddenly sharp, panicked.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest was tight, my lungs burning. The fairy lights blurred into streaks of light, the music a distant, mocking hum. The sweet scent of roses turned bitter, suffocating.
I pushed through the trellis, my face undoubtedly a mask of horror. My friend and him stood there, frozen, their faces pale, eyes wide with terror. The champagne glass slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the flagstones, the sound echoing the complete devastation of my heart.
My best friend. My ex-love.
Standing there, together. Her on her wedding night. Him, the man who broke me.
And the shattering truth that it wasn’t just my lover who betrayed me, but the woman I trusted most in the world.
The celebration continued behind us, unaware of the carnage unfolding in the quiet garden. They didn’t even need to say anything more. Their faces, their silence, the sheer, undeniable reality of it all, screamed the confirmation louder than any confession.
Children being led upstairs | Source: Pexels
My old wound wasn’t just open. It had been ripped to shreds, revealing a festering abyss I hadn’t even known existed. And the person wielding the knife? My best friend, the bride, still in her wedding dress.
