My name is Camille.
I was twenty-five years old, madly in love, and only two days away from marrying the man I considered my soul mate.
Mason and I had been together for four years.
He was charming, responsible, and my family adored him.
He proposed to me on a snowy trip to Vermont, and I cried when I said yes.
My best friend Ria was my maid of honour.
We’d been friends since high school – the kind of friendship where you finish each other’s sentences and cry over the same sad films.
The day before the wedding was exactly how I dreamed it would be – filled with laughter, champagne, and rehearsed vows that made everyone burst into tears.
That night, everyone went their separate ways – Mason was to spend the night at his brother’s house, and I was to spend the night with Rhea in the wedding suite.
At least that’s what I thought.
I woke up to the kind of text that no bride should ever receive.
It was from Mason’s younger brother, Tyler.
“I didn’t know how to tell you this, Camille, but I thought you should know. Mason didn’t spend the night at my place last night. I saw him leave the hotel around three this morning. He was with Rhea.”
At first I thought it was a mistake.
But when I confronted Ria – her face trembled.
She didn’t even try to deny it.
‘He was drunk,’ she said, eyes red and dilated. “It just…happened. I didn’t mean for it to.”
You didn’t mean to? You don’t ‘accidentally’ sleep with your best friend’s fiancé on the eve of her wedding.
I felt as if the ground had gone out from under my feet.
But I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. Not then.
Instead, I smiled.
Because I knew exactly what I was going to do.
I went to the wedding – or at least let them believe I would.
I acted like everything was fine.
I let Rhea button up my wedding dress on me, her hands shaking behind my back.
I let Mason hold my hand during the last rehearsal, pretending he hadn’t broken my heart just hours earlier.
But I had a plan.
I gathered all of our guests at the ceremony site.
Everyone was dressed beautifully, eyes full of anticipation.
Mason stood at the altar, nervous but smiling.
The music started to play.
I walked slowly down the aisle, clutching the bouquet with trembling fingers.
My father looked confused but proud.
When I reached the front, I took a deep breath, turned to the audience, and spoke into the microphone.
‘Before we begin,’ I said, my voice clear and calm, ‘I want to tell you something.’
I turned to Ria, who was standing just behind me in her lilac dress, and then to Mason.
‘I want to thank you both,’ I said. “I really do. Because what you did gave me clarity.”
Whispers drifted through the crowd.
I turned fully around to the guests.
‘Last night my maid of honour and my fiancé slept together.’
Sighs. Someone dropped a glass. My mum covered her mouth with her hand.
‘And they’d let me marry him today, pretending nothing happened.’
I paused.
“But I believe in honesty. So I’m not marrying Mason today. In fact, I think everyone should know the truth before they go home thinking we just changed our minds.”
Ria’s face went white as paper.
Mason tried to reach for me, his lips moving, but I pulled back.
‘You have no right to speak now.’
I then handed the microphone to Tyler-the only one who had the courage to tell me the truth.
He confirmed it. He’d seen them. He heard them.
And that was it.
I left.
Still in my wedding dress.
I left flowers. The cake. The guests.
But I left with dignity.
They both cried. Right there, in front of everyone. Ria collapsed in her chair, sobbing.
Mason begged. Said it was a mistake, that it meant nothing.
But it meant everything to me.
That betrayal had shown me what love wasn’t.
And it taught me the most important lesson of all:
When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.
It’s been a year since that day.
I moved to another city. I started a small photography business. I travelled, made new friends and fell in love again – with myself.
Ria tried to contact me. I blocked her.
Mason sent me a letter. I burned it.
And I’ve never felt more at peace.
Because I realised that leaving wasn’t the end of my love story.
It was the beginning of a real one.
One where I would never again settle for half-truths or broken promises.
The one in which I choose myself – every time.
