The day had been everything I’d ever dreamed of or at least, it was supposed to be. The venue sparkled with sunlight and laughter. White roses lined the path to the altar, the soft scent blending with the faint breeze from the nearby lake.
I’d spent months planning every detail: the music, the menu, the floral arrangements. And when I finally walked down the aisle, heart pounding, seeing my fiancé waiting at the end, I truly believed it was the happiest day of my life. Everyone said we were the perfect couple.
Oliver and I had met three years ago at a friend’s barbecue, and from the first moment, he’d swept me off my feet. Charming, confident, funny, he had a way of making everyone around him feel at ease. I used to say he could talk a storm into sunshine.
I’d believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved me. After the ceremony, we moved to the reception area by the pool, where the photographer had set up for post-wedding shots. It was late afternoon, that golden hour where everything looked soft and perfect.
My bridesmaids gathered around me, adjusting my train, fixing my hair, and laughing as Oliver wrapped an arm around my waist. “Careful,” I’d teased, “don’t wrinkle the dress.”
He grinned that mischievous grin I’d fallen for. “You’ll survive, Mrs.
Harrison.”
It still felt strange hearing that name attached to me. I was giddy, glowing, and blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. The photographer instructed us to pose by the edge of the pool.
“Let’s get one with the reflections in the water, it’ll look amazing.”
I hesitated. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t go too close. The hem will get wet.”
Oliver chuckled, pulling me a little nearer.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
Everyone laughed, thinking it was sweet. My dad was standing a few feet away, chatting with my mom. He gave me a thumbs-up.
And then, without warning, Oliver tightened his grip on my waist, leaned in as if to kiss me and suddenly shoved me backward into the pool. The world went silent for a split second. Then splash.
The shock of the cold water hit me like a slap. My veil floated above me as I tried to get my bearings, struggling to keep my dress from tangling around my legs. The heavy fabric dragged me down, and I kicked desperately until someone reached in to pull me up.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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