I had the perfect fairytale wedding. Greg was beaming, thinking this was the start of our perfect life, but I knew better.
The reception was dreamlike—champagne, laughter, doting in-laws—but beneath the surface, I was already playing my part. I smiled, laughed, and danced, while inside, I knew the bubble was about to burst.
As the night wore on, Greg’s excitement for our wedding night grew. His touches lingered, and his smile was too eager. But I had my own plan.
After saying goodbye to the guests, we headed to the master suite, Greg practically giddy. As he reached for the zipper of my dress, I smiled, knowing he had no idea what was coming.
When the dress fell, he saw the tattoo of his ex, Sarah, across my torso. The words he’d told her before the wedding were etched beneath her face: “One last taste of freedom before I’m bound to the same body forever.”
He panicked, asking how I knew, but I just spat, “Sarah rubbed your betrayal in my face.”
His parents barged in, and the truth spilled out. Greg’s mother, Marianne, was in shock. His father, James, was furious. The room was thick with tension as I revealed the truth: Greg slept with Sarah the night before our wedding.
Greg was a mess, begging for forgiveness, but I was done. His apology meant nothing. He had made a choice, and now he had to face it.
“I’m leaving,” I declared. Greg pleaded, but I was already walking out. His cries echoed through the house, but I felt lighter with every step. I was free.
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