I called off the wedding. Yes, you read that right. Two whole weeks before the day wed been dithering over for months, the date wed pencilled into every calendar, the venue wed toured, the menu wed debated. Everything was ready down to the last detail: the reception hall in Bath was booked, the string quartet had rehearsed the playlist, the photographer had mapped out the schedule minute by minute, my ivory satin dress hung in the wardrobepristine, exactly the one Id dreamt of the moment I first laid eyes on it. Wed even found a cosy terraced house in a leafy suburb of Manchester, the one wed move into right after the ceremony to start our new life.
Why did I scrap it all? Because Mr. Groom suddenly decided he could raise his hand against me.
Dont get the wrong ideawere decent, wellbehaved folk. We keep to the modesty rules, never flirted, never even brushed a hand inappropriately. Our dates were proper, respectful, straight out of a Sundayschool handbook. I truly believed I was looking at a man capable of building a marriage on dignity, gentleness and mutual support.
Then, on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday, the stress of the endless todo lists finally boiled over. He snapped, shouting at me in a voice that sounded nothing like his usual measured tone. And a heartbeat later, he actually slapped mehard enough to make my vision go dark for a split second.
Yes, you heard me right. The same graduate of Eton and Oxford, the model student, the respectable scholar, the gentleman everyone praised, actually laid a hand on his bride-tobe two weeks before the vows. The perfect gentleman, what a laugh.
His true colours burst through the façade of propriety, piety and respectability. The mask slipped, and in a flash of anger he showed who he really wasnot the protector Id imagined, but a potential bully.
Am I, in any way, relieved this happened? Absolutely. It sounds terrible, but I somehow think Ive been saved. Better to spot a monster before the wedding than to spend a lifetime walking on eggshells, fearing every breath he takes.
Now, whats happening to my family after the cancellation? I could write a novel about the whirlwind of emotions, accusations, endless questions, and the nonstop gossip from neighbours and acquaintances. Ill keep it short: its excruciatingly hard. Im shattered. I need therapy. Sometimes I think a strong enough pill that could put me to sleep forever would be a mercy, just to end this relentless ache.
Instead of support, Im met with the feeling that Im now the familys disgrace, as if Ive broken something, as if I should have endured, as if its all my fault.
My soul feels smashed into a thousand tiny shards. I drift through a fog, watching life happen as if Im not really there. It hurts at the deepest level, right at the core of who I am. Occasionally I catch myself wishing I could simply vanish, dissolve into thin air, disappear from a world that offers so little sympathy or understanding.
And yet I didnt write this confession for nothing. Theres a point to it. If, even a minute before the wedding, you sense that the man youve chosen cant keep his temper in a crisisif you see flashes of anger, if theres any sliver of a chance he might raise his handstop. Cancel everything. Just hit the brakes. Put an end to it.
It doesnt matter how much money youve spent. It doesnt matter how many guests will be upset, shocked or disappointed. It doesnt matter what relatives, neighbours or friends say.
I think its far wiser to pause for a second than to become a woman who gets beaten from day one of marriageperhaps for the rest of her life.
As for me? Im not looking for pity. Id simply be grateful if you kept me in your thoughts, hoping I can heal, that one day Ill feel whole again, that someday Ill manage to build a familyreal, the sort every woman daydreams about. A family where love is soft, not scary. Where a hand is for support, not for slaps.
Maybe, someday, Ill believe in love again.
