“Bloody hell, Emma! What are you playing at?!” Sarah’s voice trembled down the phone, thick with indignation. “This is my wedding we’re talking about! MY wedding! I’ve spent eighteen months planning this!”
“Love, hear me out,” Emma replied breezily. “James rang me himself last night. What was I meant to do—tell him no? We dated back at uni, you know that!”
Sarah sank onto the sofa, the phone shaking in her grip.
“But the wedding’s this Saturday! The dress is bought, guests are coming, the venue in Kent’s booked! Emma, how could you?”
“Like I had a choice? He said he’d made a mistake—that it’s me he loves, not you. Can’t help how I feel, sweetheart.”
Sarah hurled the phone onto the cushions and burst into tears. Outside, autumn rain drizzled over Manchester. On the table sat the marriage paperwork; in the wardrobe hung the white dress she’d bought with happy tears in her eyes.
Mum rushed in, hugging her tight. “What’s happened, darling?”
“James… He’s marrying Emma,” Sarah choked out. “They’re registering tomorrow. Our wedding was next week!”
Margaret sighed, pulling her closer. “Then he wasn’t meant for you, love. Better to know now than waste years.”
“But why, Mum? Why am I always the backup plan?” Sarah sniffled. “In secondary school, Liam dated me till Jessica transferred in. At college, Alex strung me along for months before running off with his lab partner. Now James—”
Mum stroked her hair, remembering how Sarah had glowed while dress-shopping. She’d never trusted James—too polished, too pretty with his empty blue eyes.
“Mum, what do I do now? Everyone knows about the wedding! Auntie Bea’s booked trains from Bristol, Uncle Geoff took holiday time—”
“You keep living,” Mum said firmly. “You’re lovely, clever—you’ll meet your real match.”
Sarah wiped her eyes. “And if I don’t? I’m twenty-seven. All my mates are married with kids. I’m just… dating and hoping.”
“You will,” Mum insisted. She didn’t mention the boy who’d left her for a society girl, how Dad—a humble electrician—had brought her daisies every payday till she believed she was the most beautiful woman alive.
The doorbell rang. Sarah froze—was it James? Had he changed his mind?
Neighbour Mrs. Whittaker stood there with a jar of jam. “Love, I heard… That James is a right prat. Knew it the moment I saw him—shifty eyes, clammy hands. You’re better off.”
“Please, Mrs. W—”
“Nonsense! You’re a catch. My nephew Dave’s divorced, but a good bloke—works at the auto plant, dotes on his little girl. Fancy meeting him?”
Sarah shook her head.
She spent the evening staring at the rain, replaying every heartbreak: how Liam had traded her for posh Jessica, how Alex had called her a “fun distraction” while engaged to his childhood sweetheart. James had been different—whisking her to London weekends, gushing about their Surrey semi-detached. Till Emma swanned back from New York.
The next day, despite her dread, Sarah went to the hospital where she worked. Colleagues offered awkward smiles; patients asked after the cancelled wedding.
Over lunch, Dr. Tom Harrison—quiet, kind-eyed—lingered by her desk. “Fancy a coffee? Went through a divorce last year. Gets easier.”
They met Saturday at a cinema in Leeds. He brought wildflowers. “Not a date,” he clarified, but made her laugh through the rom-com. Over tea, he admitted his ex had cheated for three years. “Stung, but we wanted different things.”
Sarah frowned. “James said I wasn’t ‘ambitious’ enough.”
Tom snorted. “Bollocks. You’re warm, hardworking—what more could a bloke want?”
Months passed with museum trips and pub quizzes. Tom’s daughter Lily adored her, once asking, “Will you be my new mum?”
When Tom proposed—no grand gesture, just a promise to love her daily—Sarah whispered, “I won’t be your second choice?”
“You’re my only choice,” he said.
Their registry office wedding was small. Sarah wore cream silk, happier than she’d ever been.
A year later, James called. “Heard you’re married. Me and Emma split. Fancy catching up?”
Sarah twisted her wedding ring. “No, James. Goodbye.”
She walked home to Tom and Lily, who loved her—not as a backup, but as their always.
