Our wedding was picture-perfect—flowers, laughter, champagne toasts. Greg beamed at me, believing this was the happiest day of his life. But I knew better. I had spent the day wearing not just a wedding dress, but a secret. A secret that would shatter the illusion he so desperately clung to. I smiled, I danced, I played the doting bride. But I was only waiting for the curtain to fall.
When we were finally alone, Greg couldn’t hide his eagerness. He led me to the bedroom, hands trembling with anticipation. He kissed my neck, whispered sweet nothings, and slowly unzipped my dress. But when it slipped to the floor, his face collapsed into horror. The tattoo of his ex, Sarah, stretched across my torso—along with his own words: “One last taste of freedom…” His legs gave out. “No… this can’t be happening.”
His parents burst in, alarmed by his cries, and stared in shock at the image inked on my body. I stood tall, unflinching. “He cheated on me,” I said. Greg sobbed, broken and ashamed. Marianne wept, James burned with fury. “You’ve disgraced this family,” his father growled. Greg stammered apologies, but the damage was done. The truth had gutted him—and them.
I looked down at the man I was supposed to love, now exposed for who he truly was. “You made a choice, Greg. And so have I.” He begged me to stay, to forgive. But I turned away, wrapped myself in silence, and walked out. His cries followed me, but they no longer touched me. I was done being lied to. I was finally free.