Just days before her wedding, Jenna discovers her perfect dress destroyed by scorch marks, leaving her devastated and confused. Her search for answers reveals a shocking betrayal that changes everything. Her next move is pure revenge. I never thought I’d be one of those brides who got all weepy over a dress. But there I was, standing in front of the mirror at Bella’s Bridal, my hands clasped over my mouth, trying not to smudge my mascara as tears welled up in my eyes.
I smoothed my hands over the intricately beaded lace bodice, marveling at how it hugged my curves just right before flowing into a dreamy tulle skirt. It was perfect, exactly what I’d always imagined I’d wear when I married Adam. Fast forward to a week later, and I was still on cloud nine. I’d hung the dress in the guest room closet, safely zipped up in its garment bag, but I couldn’t resist peeking at it every chance I got.
“You’re obsessed,” Adam teased one night as I came back from yet another visit to my dress. I flopped onto the couch next to him, grinning. “Can you blame me? In three weeks, I get to wear that dress and marry you. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
Adam pulled me close, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’m the lucky one,” he murmured. If only I’d known then how quickly my world was about to come crashing down. It happened on a Tuesday morning. I remember because I had the day off work, and I was planning to finalize some wedding details. I practically skipped to the guest room, ready for my daily dose of wedding dress joy.
But when I opened the closet door, my heart stopped. At first, I couldn’t process what I was seeing. The garment bag was unzipped, and there was my dress, but it looked… wrong. As I reached out with trembling hands to touch the fabric, I saw the huge, ugly burn marks scarring the delicate lace and beading. My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, a strangled sob escaping my throat. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. I fumbled for my phone, dialing my mom’s number through a haze of tears “Let’s check the security cameras,” Mom suggested. “Maybe they caught something.”
I’d forgotten about the cameras Adam had installed a few months back. With shaking hands, I pulled up the app on my phone and started scrolling through the footage. And then I saw it. My heart stopped as I watched Adam — my Adam — walk into the guest room with an iron in his hand. He looked calm, almost methodical as he unzipped the garment bag and pressed the hot iron against my dress.