I BORROWED A WEDDING DRESS AND FOUND A LETTER IN THE LINING
The day I tried on that dress, I swore I felt something strange.
Not fear.
Not beauty.
Just…heaviness.
But I brushed it off.
After all, it was borrowedfrom a vintage boutique downtown. The woman said it had only been worn once, twenty years ago. Cleaned. Preserved. Untouched.
None of that mattered. I was just happy to finally afford something that didnt look cheap.
I took it home.
Hung it carefully.
And every night before my wedding, I stared at it. Dreaming of my day. The aisle. The music. The man.
I was in love.
Deeply.
Stupidly.
Young.
But the night before the wedding, as I steamed the dress, checking for wrinklesI felt a tug. Inside the lining, near the hem, something was sewn shut oddly. A small, flat lump.
Curious, I grabbed a needle.
Gently, I opened it.
Inside…
A note.
Old. Colorless. But the ink was still visible.
*If youre reading this, please dont marry him. I beg you. Hes dangerous. I only escaped because of the bruises. M.*
I dropped the dress.
Literally let it fall.
My heart raced.
I flipped the note.
There was more:
*If he gave you this dress, hes done this before.*
But he didnt.
I bought it at a boutique.
Right?
Or did he suggest the place?
I couldnt remember. Everything blurred.
I grabbed my phone. Searched the shop online. No website.
Weird.
Checked the address. Nothing on Google Maps.
Weirder.
I drove there that night. My wedding was tomorrow, but I needed answers.
When I arrived?
It was gone.
Closed.
Empty windows. Dust.
No trace of the old woman. No sign it had ever been open.
I knocked on the neighbors door.
A sleepy-eyed man answered.
“Hi sorry to bother you. Do you know the boutique that was here?”
He frowned.
*”Boutique?”*
“Yeah a vintage bridal shop. Run by a woman”
He shook his head.
*”Maam this place has been closed for twenty years.”*
I froze.
“But I bought a dress there days ago.”
He looked me up and down, then whispered:
*”Youre the third woman to ask me that in five years.”*
My blood ran cold.
*”What happened to the others?”*
He shrugged.
*”One canceled her wedding and vanished.”*
*”The other went ahead with it.”*
*”Last I heard, she disappeared on her honeymoon.”*
I ran.
Got in my car.
Sat in silence for twenty minutes.
Then I called my fiancé.
Didnt mention the note. The shop. The neighbor.
Just asked:
*”Where did you say you worked before we met?”*
A pause.
Then:
*”Why are you asking me this now?”*
And I knew.
That note wasnt a coincidence.
The dress wasnt a coincidence.
Tomorrow?
Might be my last day alive.
I BORROWED A WEDDING DRESS AND FOUND A LETTER IN THE LINING (EPISODE 2)
I woke in silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that feels wrong. Like something was holding its breath.
I sat up, hair tangled, heart pounding from a dream I couldnt rememberjust the feeling it left: cold. Stained.
The note was still on my nightstand.
Crushed. Crumpled. But there.
*”IF HE GAVE YOU THIS DRESS, HES DONE THIS BEFORE.”*
I held it like glass.
I didnt want to believe it. Didnt want to believe *him*the man I was marryingcould have secrets deep enough to rot silk.
But I couldnt ignore it anymore.
The dress was back in its box. Ivory. Vintage. Hand-stitched. Still faintly smelling of lavender and something else. Faint. Metallic.
Id thought it was old perfume.
Now? I wasnt sure it wasnt old blood.
I needed answers. And I couldnt ask *him*. Not yet. Not without proof.
So I drove.
Still in pajamas. Hair thrown up. No makeup. Just fear.
The shop was only ten minutes away. A small store wedged between a salon and a thrift bookstore. Called *”Second Chances.”*
I didnt remember the name on the receipt.
I pushed the door.
No bell rang.
Because there *was* no bell.
No anything.
No dresses. No racks. No counter.
Just an empty room with dusty tiles and a broken mirror leaning against the back wall.
Empty.
Abandoned.
Like it had been this way for years.
I stepped back, confused. A man sweeping the sidewalk nearby looked up.
*”Looking for something?”*
*”The clothing store. It was here. Two days ago.”*
He frowned.
*”That place closed in 2019.”*
I swallowed.
*”You sure?”*
*”I live upstairs. Never seen it open.”*
My breath faltered.
Walked back to my car with shaking hands.
If the shop didnt exist where did I get the dress?
And who*who*left that note inside?
I didnt go home. Couldnt.
Instead, I went to my aunts.
Shes calm. Steady. Seen too much to be surprised.
When I walked in with the dress box, she didnt ask. Just pointed to the kitchen and made tea.
Then I showed her the note.
Told her everything.
When I finished, she leaned back. Staring into space.
*”This sounds like something that happened to someone I knew. Long ago.”*
*”Who?”*
*”Her name was Morayo. She wore a secondhand wedding dress too. From a shop that wasnt really a shop.”*
*”What happened to her?”*
*”The same thing youre afraid of.”*
*”She married the wrong man.”*
*”And the dress tried to warn her.”*
I stared.
*”Are you saying the dress is cursed?”*
She didnt answer directly.
Just stood.
*”Go home. Burn the note. Leave the dress. Dont wear it.”*
But I didnt.
Because that night, when I picked up the box again
It was already open.
And, carefully placed on top of the folded dress
Another note.
Smaller.
Fresh handwriting. Just five words:
*”You have seven days left.”*
My heart stopped.
I wasnt even married yet.
I BORROWED A WEDDING DRESS AND FOUND A LETTER IN THE LINING (EPISODE 3)
I stared at the note. Just five words:
*”You have seven days left.”*
Neatly folded over the same dress Id tried so hard to forget. The one I rented from a tiny shop squeezed between two old buildings. The shop that no longer existed. Or maybe never did.
My fingers shook as I picked it up. Another letter. Tidy. Firm. Less frantic than the first. But it didnt matter. It felt just as heavy. Just as *wrong.*
Seven days for what?
I didnt believe in curses. Not really. But fear has a way of making even the most rational person start believing in irrational things.
I called the number on the dress receipt again. Still disconnected. Still dead.
I told myself it was just someone playing a prank. Maybe someone at the shop found out I was getting married. Maybe they wanted to scare me. Maybe it was nothing.
But it didnt *feel* like nothing.
The next morning, I skipped work. Spent hours scouring the internet for any trace of *”Second Chances”*business listings, Facebook pages, old Yelp reviews. Nothing. Like the place had vanished from the earth.
Or worse. Like it never was.
By noon, I was exhausted.
Thats when Phola called.
My best friend. My voice of reason.
*”You sound like youve seen a ghost,”* she said. *”What happened now?”*
I told her everything.
The first note. The second. The empty shop. The man outside who swore it had been closed for years.
She was silent. Then:
*”Are you sure youre not just overwhelmed? Wedding stress is real. Maybe your minds playing tricks.”*
I didnt blame her. It did sound insane.
But it didnt explain the notes.
She burned the dress that night, watching the flames consume the silk and the lies, and as the last stitch turned to ash, she finally felt free.
