Emily stood before the mirror in her ivory gown, the reality refusing to sink in. The dress fitted flawlessly – her mother had spent three weeks perfecting every seam, every bead. Now, that beauty draped her like a shroud.
“Emily, love? Ready?” Aunty Margaret, Mum’s best friend, peeked into the room. “Guests are arriving, the cars are here.”
“Ready,” Emily lied, adjusting her veil. “But Aunty Marg… couldn’t we just cancel? It all feels so wrong…”
“What on earth are you saying, petal!” Margaret exclaimed, hands flying up. “Your mum poured her heart into this! Spent a fortune! The guests are here, the buffet’s laid. And that Jake of yours…” She shook her head. “Serves him right! Shouldn’t have done a bunk at the eleventh hour!”
Mum entered, eyes red-rimmed but expression resolute. “Right, Emily! Enough moping!” she said firmly. “I won’t let that plonker ruin our day. This wedding’s happening, and let the whole village see what a stunner my daughter is!”
“Mum, it’s ridiculous! A wedding without a groom! What will people say?”
“What *will* they say?” Mum stepped closer, fixed Emily’s earrings. “They’ll say Margaret Evans is a marvel! That she didn’t sit at home weeping, but showed everyone her daughter deserves better! That’s what!”
Emily sighed. Mum was off on one again – once she made up her mind, arguing was pointless. She’d decided last night when Jake phoned, proclaiming he wasn’t ready for commitment.
“Mum, the humiliation!” Emily tried again.
“Humiliation?” Mum scoffed. “Humiliation is a girl wasting years on an unworthy bloke! We’ll show we’re fine without him!” She turned towards the door. “Right, chat’s over. We’re going!”
The village hall buzled with about forty people. Relatives, neighbours, Mum’s colleagues. Murmurs filled the air, accompanied by sympathetic glances. Emily felt like she was in the theatre of the absurd.
“Oh Emily, you look beautiful!” Her cousin Megan rushed over. “But where… I mean… how are things?”
“As you see,” Emily replied flatly.
Mum mounted the small dais meant for the band and tapped a spoon against a glass. “My dears!” she announced. “Today is special. My daughter Emily is getting married… to her new life! To freedom from unworthy men! To the right to be happy!”
Silence descended. Someone coughed awkwardly.
“Marg, have you lost the plot?” Mum’s sister Helen whispered fiercely.
“Quite the opposite! Found it at last!” Mum countered. “Emily, come here!”
Reluctantly, Emily approached. Mum slung an arm around her shoulders.
“Here she is! My vision! Clever, kind, practical! And that… that Jake, he wasn’t good enough! Let everyone know – we’re not mourning, we’re celebrating!”
“Mum, please stop,” Emily hissed through clenched teeth.
“No!” Mum raised her glass. “To my daughter! To her seeing sense in time about who isn’t worth it!”
Guests hesitantly raised their glasses. A few mumbled “To Emily,” others drank quietly.
“And now, tuck in!” Mum commanded. “Let’s enjoy ourselves!”
Emily sat at the head table. Beside her sat an empty, ribbon-decked chair – the groom’s place. A pitiful sight.
“Love, shall we move that chair?” Aunty Margaret suggested.
“Absolutely not!” Mum shot back. “Let them all see who’s missing! Let them draw their own conclusions!”
Salads appeared. Guests ate quietly, exchanging meaningless pleasantries. The atmosphere was taut as a bowstring.
“Why so glum?” Mum stood again. “Emily, tell them how you and Jake fell out!”
“Mum, don’t!” Emily pleaded.
“I insist!” Margaret Evans was adamant. “Let them hear the truth!”
Emily scanned the room, saw the curious, pitying faces. Something inside her snapped.
“Fine,” she said, rising. “I’ll tell you. Jake rang yesterday. Said he’d changed his mind. Wasn’t ready for responsibility, needed time for himself. We were together three years! Three years I waited for a ring, planned our life, dreamed of children!”
The hall fell utterly silent.
“And you know what?” Emily continued, anger lending her strength. “Mum’s right! Enough waiting for men to grant us happiness! I can be happy alone! Without Jake, without any bloke who doesn’t appreciate what he’s got!”
“Well said, love!” Mum cheered. “We’re in charge of our own lives!”
“I left my Victor last year,” piped up up neighbour, Aunty Bev. “Fed up with his carry-on. Peaceful now, no one barking orders!”
“Quite right!” agreed another woman. “My Dave thought I’d be lost without him. Sold the flat, bought a cottage, grow tomatoes for the farmers’ market now. Better off by miles!”
Slowly, the women shared their stories – tales of divorce, of finding independence. Men sat quietly, occasionally exchanging glances.
“Remember, Marg,” called a distant relative, “your mum warning you against your wedding? Said Emily’s dad wasn’t worth it?”
“Aye,” Mum nodded. “She was right. Cleared off when Emily was five. Said he was too young, married too soon.”
“They all say that!” cried someone’s aunt. “Too young! Who raises the kids? Us!”
The conversation grew lively. Women swapped tales, men made awkward excuses or stayed silent. Emily sat in ivory satin, feeling an internal shift.
“You know what?” she said as the chatter eased. “It’s true. Enough waiting for Prince Charming! I work, I earn, I’ve my own place. Why cling to a bloke who runs scared?”
“Exactly!” a younger woman chimed in. “I’m raising my lad alone, doing just fine. Kept waiting for his dad to see sense, come home. Waited alright – he married someone else!”
“My pal enrolled at uni at forty,” another guest offered. “Always fancied psychology, but hubby said no. Soon as she divorced him – enrolled!”
Mum marched to the stereo and switched on the music.
“Enough glum faces!” she declared. “Dancing! Emily, lead us!”
“Mum, I’m in a wedding gown!”
“So what? Your gown, your rules!”
Emily stood, made tentative dance steps. Gradually, other women joined her. Men stayed seated, some shuffling awkwardly to the beat.
“Em, remember school discos?” Her old classmate Charlotte bounded over. “You were always the playground legend!”
“Yeah,” Emily managed a laugh. “Thought then life stretched ahead, like something out of the pictures!”
“And doesn’t it?” Charlotte asked earnestly. “Life *is* ahead! You’re young, gorgeous, clever. Jake’s the loser!”
The dancing continued.
Eleanor stood at the kitchen sink, the moonlight streaming through the window and glinting off the silver teaspoons as she placed them carefully into the drying rack, the exquisite bodice of her wedding gown catching the pale light; she looked towards the village of Hope Fields sleeping under the stars and felt a profound calm settle over her, deeper and more enduring than the fleeting joy of the evening, the white silk no longer a shroud for her dreams but the shimmering emblem of a future she would define entirely for herself, stepping forward into a life rich with hope and boundless possibility.
