I got married six months ago, and since that day, something hasnt let me rest.
Our wedding was held in a lovely English garden. There was lively music, strings of fairy lights, people twirling around on the grass like it was midsummer. At one point, I stepped away from the bustle for some air, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. From across the courtyard, I spotted my best mate, Thomas, and my wife, Emily, standing off to the side near the conservatorythe old stone wall by the loos.
They werent talking normally. They were having a row.
Her movements were tense, hands flitting nervously. His jaw was clenched, his posture rigid. The music was thumping, the speakers drowning everything out, but it was obvious the argument was heated.
I approached quietly, careful not to make my presence known straight away. As I got closer, I distinctly heard Thomas say, We are not discussing this again. Full stop.
His voice was cold. Unforgiving.
They turned and noticed me. I asked what was going on, what the conversation was about.
They both froze. Emily was first to recovershe smiled too brightly and said it was nothing, just nonsense. Thomas chimed in that theyd gotten into a row over a silly game or bethed suggested something, she didnt want to, that was all. Their explanation tumbled out quickly, awkwardly, without any real details.
They changed the subject immediately and hurried back to the festivities, as if nothing had happened at all.
For the rest of the evening, I tried to keep the mood light. We danced, toasted with champagne, mingled with family and friends. But every time I saw Thomas and Emily near each other, they barely spoke and couldnt meet each others eyes. They didnt exchange another word in my presence.
I said nothing that night.
After the wedding, life carried on. I settled into married life with Emily. We still spent time with Thomas and his girlfriendgatherings, birthdays, the usual routines. No one ever brought up what had happened that night. There were no strange texts, no furtive phone calls, no concrete clue to cling to.
Just that one moment.
But that momenthis exact words, the cold tone, the urgent way they both ended the conversationhas never faded. The look on their faces when they noticed me lingered in my head.
I have no proof. No messages, no scenes, no confessions. Only that argument on our wedding day and the gut feeling that I interrupted something I was never supposed to hear.
Six months have passed, and it still sits with me. I havent accused anyone.
Now, I keep wondering:
What are you meant to do with a doubt like this, when you have nothing real to go ononly the sense that something did happen that day?
