She had been asking Dad questions for months — about the bakery accounts, land titles, even the house.
Dad stepped in, phone to his ear. “Callie, where’s the seating chart? The florist needs a final count.”
I handed it over. “Here. And relax, Dad.”
He kissed my cheek. “You’ll be stunning, Cal. Mom will be proud.”
Brenda snorted, and the sting burned, but I kept my face smooth.
Rowan’s text buzzed: “I’ll be at the altar. Don’t run.”
I smiled. Not even Brenda could ruin the day, right?
Jess, my best friend since we were twelve, texted: “I’m outside, bride. Banana + matcha run! Don’t faint on me.”
Ten minutes later, we pulled up at the venue.
Jess shoved a banana and matcha into my hand. “Eat. You need to remember your vows, not faint during them.”
“I haven’t fainted since prom,” I protested.
She grinned. “And you’re not starting today.”
Inside the bridal suite, Jess set my hair in curlers. “You’ll thank me when you see the photos.”
I rolled my eyes, but laughter felt good. Inside, I was aching. My mom should have been here.
“You’re a menace, Jess.”
She glanced at her phone. “Let’s take a walk before makeup. Burn off jitters.”
We strolled the garden path, talking about Rowan, Mom, and Brenda’s obsession with the business. By the time we circled back, I felt human again.
But when I unzipped the garment bag, the air vanished. My dress was destroyed — silk slashed, lace torn, cut with ugly precision.
Jess gasped. “Oh my God, Callie, what happened?”
“This wasn’t an accident. Someone did this on purpose.”
Panic buzzed in my ears. In the mirror, I saw my face go white and remembered Mom’s whisper before recitals: “You’re stronger than you know, my Callie.”
“Don’t fall apart,” I told myself.
Jess ran for help. Soon she returned with Mr. Harris, the venue manager, and Tessa, our wedding planner.
Mr. Harris’s eyes widened. “Has anyone been in here besides you two?”
“It was fine before we left. I zipped it myself,” I said.
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