“Mind if I try on your wedding dress? You won’t be needing it anymore,” her friend smirked.
“I think it’s perfect. Best one you’ve tried yet,” said Joanne, critically eyeing her friend.
“Your friend’s right. It suits you beautifully. Just needs the hem taken up and a slight adjustment at the waist,” the bridal shop assistant said. “Shall I fetch the veil?”
“I wasn’t planning on wearing one,” Dottie hesitated.
“Bring it—just not too long,” Joanne cut in, watching as her friend twirled before the mirror, the full skirt swaying around her legs like a bell. Dottie could already picture Anton’s awestruck face when he’d see her in this dress.
The assistant returned with a delicate tulle veil, pinning it deftly into Dottie’s hair with practised hands.
“Ready for the registry office right now,” the assistant beamed at her reflection. “So? Taking it?”
“What do you think?” Dottie turned to Joanne.
“You’re the one getting married—your call,” Joanne replied, failing to hide the bitter spark in her eyes.
“Yes, we’ll take it.” Dottie lifted the hem to step down, but the assistant stopped her.
“Let me fetch the seamstress.”
Dottie sighed dramatically, secretly thrilled for more time in the dress.
On their way home, the girls cut through the park. They’d been friends since school. Joanne was all sharp angles—tall, with a long straight nose and an edge to her posture. She’d always envied Dottie’s soft, pretty features, the dimples in her cheeks, her upturned nose. Even more, she resented Dottie’s normal parents—no shouting, no drinking. Joanne’s dad had died two years ago from bad vodka. She’d thought life with her mum would calm down afterwards, but instead, she’d grown snappish, restless.
Dottie had graduated from a top university, worked as a translator for a big firm. Joanne had scraped through a distance-learning biology degree and now hated her job at an environmental lab—another reason to seethe.
And now this mouse was getting married. Anton meant nothing to Joanne, but the fact burned. She’d had boyfriends—yet none led to a wedding. She dreamed of a lavish white dress, of escaping her mum. Why did Dottie get everything?
“You’re not even listening,” Dottie tugged her arm.
“Huh? What?”
“I said I’ll throw you the bouquet—you’ll be next. Oh, look, that woman’s selling jewellery. I noticed her yesterday. Let’s take a peek.” She pulled Joanne toward a bench.
“Why bother with tat?” Joanne eyed the elderly woman skeptically. Her tray of cheap trinkets glinted in the sun, drawing glances but no buyers.
“Look at this ring.” Dottie turned a tiny silver band with a white stone in her fingers. “Can I try it?”
“No charge to try. But I won’t sell it to you,” the woman said suddenly.
“Why not?” Dottie frowned, still clutching it.
“Soon you’ll wear a wedding band. Mixing metals is poor taste,” the woman chided. “This, though—” She rummaged, then held up a polished pendant on a fine chain, its surface gleaming like a mirror.
“Dot, why waste money on junk?” Joanne sneered.
“It’s unusual. How much?” Dottie ignored her.
“What you can spare. Take it—it’ll bring you happiness.”
“She’s happy enough already,” Joanne muttered.
“And you’re jealous,” the woman shot back.
Dottie fished out three pound coins.
“It’s all I’ve got.”
“More than enough. Wear it in good health.”
Joanne barely glanced at the pendant as Dottie fastened it around her neck.
“Nice. Original,” she said flatly—though she liked it too.
A week later, Dottie collected her altered dress at lunch. The assistant boxed it up—veil and all.
“It’s huge! I can’t take this to work.”
“Book a cab, or leave it here till tonight.”
Dottie left it, phoned Anton from the office—no answer. Unusual. He worked from home but always kept his phone on for clients.
Fretting, she left early and went to his flat. Joanne opened the door—wearing his shirt, the pendant glinting at her throat.
“What are you doing here?” Dottie’s voice shook. “Where’s Anton?”
“Exhausted. Sleeping.” Joanne smirked.
Dottie shoved past. Anton lay on the sofa, bare-chested, a blanket draped low.
“Anton!” she shouted. He stirred but didn’t wake.
“Satisfied?” Joanne’s voice dripped smugness.
Dottie spun, shoving her aside before fleeing in tears.
At home, she curled up on the sofa. “There won’t be a wedding,” she sobbed to her mum.
“Don’t rush. Talk to Anton.”
“I saw—”
“I never trusted that girl. But hear him out.”
“Never!”
Yet they met. Anton waited outside her work days later.
“Dot, listen. I don’t love Joanne. She came over, asked for help online. Last thing I remember was tea. Then—nothing. I swear.”
“Nothing? Not even—?” She tried to push past, but he gripped her wrist.
“I don’t remember! I love you. Please—”
She wrenched free and ran.
She missed him but couldn’t forgive—until Joanne visited, smug: “Pregnant. We’re marrying. Mind if I wear your dress? You won’t need it.”
Three weeks later, Dottie watched from her window as a ribbon-decked car pulled up next door. Anton stepped out, glanced toward her window—she ducked away, heart hammering. When she looked again, her mother was helping Joanne into the car, holding up the dress’s full hem—her dress.
Dottie collapsed onto her bed, crying till she was numb. The pendant—she’d taken it off at home, tucked it away. Joanne had stolen that too, along with her joy.
The newlyweds moved into Anton’s flat. Dottie avoided them—until she bumped into Joanne’s mum at the shops.
“Joanna’s having a boy. She treated you rotten, but they’re managing. Forgive her—”
“Don’t.” Dottie walked away fast.
Pre-Christmas, laden with garish novelty gifts, she nearly collided with Joanne pushing a pram.
“Hi! Shopping spree?” Joanne grinned as if nothing had happened. “I’ve no time—little Victor’s a handful. He’s so funny when—”
“Sorry, I’m in a rush,” Dottie cut in, fumbling with her keys.
“Happy New Year!” Joanne called after her.
Dottie didn’t turn.
Winter passed. By March, spring thawed the icicles, and smiles returned. Dottie, walking home, saw an ambulance outside Joanne’s mum’s. Anton stood there, hollow-eyed.
“Your mum?” she asked, steadying her voice.
“Heart attack.”
She barely recognised him—thinner, older. For a second, it was as if nothing had happened—
“Got to run. Victor’s alone.” He didn’t move.
“Joanne?”
“Didn’t work out. The baby annoyed her. She left. Mum took Victor—I visit daily.” He turned, jogged away.
Dottie watched for him after that, but he never reappeared.
A month later, a knock woke her. Her mum whispered, “Anton’s here.”
Dottie scrambled, fingers fumbling buttons. He stood when she entered the kitchen.
“Dot, I need you to know. I only just found out—Victor isn’t mine. Joanne lied. That night—nothing happened. She drugged my tea. Came back later claiming the baby was mine. What could I do? I didn’t remember.”
Dottie listened, searching his face.
“She set it all up—already pregnant. I couldn’t explain then. Living with her was hell. She treated Victor like a burden. Then she ran off with someone else.”
“And Victor?”
“Before leaving, she admitted he wasn’t mine. I did a test. But I won’t give him up. He’s mine now.” His smile softened. “Bright little thing.”
They started seeing each other again. Weekends in the park, birthdays—
“What if Joanne comes back?” her mum fretted.
“She won’t. She sent papers—gave up rights, agreed to divorce. Moved abroad with her lover.”
Dottie’s fingers brushed the pendant at her throat. Joanne had left it behind, forgotten. Like the borrowed happiness she’d snatched—but couldn’t keep.
Not that the pendant mattered. Hearts found their way backAnd as the years passed, their love—tested by betrayal but strengthened by forgiveness—grew deeper than either could have imagined.
