The air in the garden seemed to have stopped ticking. It hung heavy, as if it carried not only the scent of midsummer roses but also something acrid and bitter the sharp sting of burnt plastic mixed with a sweet, rotting smoke that made my stomach turn, a reminder of a dark memory that had suddenly slipped out from a locked drawer in my mind. A silence so complete settled that even the leaves on the old oak refused to rustle, as if they feared breaking the uneasy calm.
Jamess phone was being stubborn. It rang once, then immediately hung up, as though it had decided not to let us connect. He had promised to be back half an hour earlier. We still had to collect the final pieces for tomorrow the day of our wedding, the day I had spent years dreaming about, crying over, and planning for. Instead of his cheerful face, the screen showed only: Call ended.
I stepped out onto the lawns, feeling a nervous knot tighten around my heart. Behind the house, near the weatherworn gazebo, a large clothcovered bag hung from a metal bar my future wedding dress, waiting for its final fitting. Beside it, by a rusted black barrel exhaling a thin plume of smoke, stood Margaret Porter. She was calmly snipping roses; her movements were measured, almost mechanical, as if she had been doing the same thing her whole life, indifferent to anything extraordinary happening around her.
Margaret? I called, trying to keep my voice steady even though my insides were trembling. Are you burning something? Theres a strange harsh smell.
She didnt turn. She paused only a heartbeat, the pruning shears hanging over a bud before she neatly clipped the excess.
Im burning whats unnecessary, Eleanor, she said softly, almost tenderly. Anything that could spoil a new life. You must clear away the rubbish before it takes root in your home.
My heart clenched. I took a few steps forward and the odor grew unbearable. Nausea rose in my throat when I saw, among the charred fragments of fabric, something that could not belong to this nightmare.
The edge of the melted lacethat same pattern my mother and I had chosen in a tiny boutique on the Thames bank lay scattered like dead teeth among the ash. My wedding. My dress. My dream.
Blood rushed from my face. Darkness edged my vision, and around me was a deafening silence. I stared at the shards of my future, at what only a day ago had been the symbol of my happiness.
This the words stuck in my throat, like pins.
Yes, she finally turned, her face calm, carefree, as if she had just performed a benevolent deed.
No trace of remorse. No drop of fear or guilt. Only a cold, hard certainty, the kind a woman who sees herself as a judge might wear.
I burnt your wedding dress, she said.
Her gaze pinned me to the spot. She walked toward me and I involuntarily stepped back. Every flicker of emotion on my face was read by her like an open book.
Why? I whispered, unable to form any more words.
You didnt pass the test, dear, she replied. I gave you a chance. I left the dress in our house, next to the most important thing for a brideher gown. And you couldnt even take it straight away. You left it hanging, useless.
I trusted you! I shouted, my voice cracking. Were family! The wedding is tomorrow!
Thats right. Tomorrow. I still have a little time to set things right, she said, as if she were discussing the weather or grocery prices. Then she added a line that turned me to stone:
I did this because youre not worthy of my son. I wont let him make a mistake hell regret for the rest of his life.
Her words echoed in my head. I looked at the woman I had once called a second mother and realized she had declared war on me, though I hadnt even known the battle had begun.
James appeared suddenly, the garden gate creaking as he entered. A guilty smile, a bewildered look he had no idea what was happening.
Sorry Im late, he said. Dad asked me to sort some paperwork. Are you ready, Eleanor? Whats happening to you?
He noticed my pallor and the figure of Margaret by the barrel. His smile faded, replaced by worry.
Mother? Whats going on?
Margaret set the pruning shears down in a basket, straightened, and looked at her son with a mix of grief and wisdom.
Son, I saved you from a great trouble. The wedding will not happen.
What do you meanwont happen? James asked, his voice faltering as he glanced between her and me. Is this a joke? Eleanor, say something!
I pointed silently at the barrel. He walked over, peered inside, and I saw his shoulders tense. He turned, and pain filled his eyes a deep, genuine hurt.
Mother, what did you do?
The thing I had to do. Your fiancée left her dress unattended. Thats a sign. She doesnt respect what should be sacred. She wont respect you or our family.
It was Eleanors dress! Our wedding dress! Have you lost your mind?
On the contrary, son. Ive never been clearersighted, she replied, reaching out, but he recoiled as if burned.
Im saving your life. She isnt the right match for you.
In that instant the noise in my head fell silent. I looked James straight in the eyes.
Your mother burnt my dress. She said I wasnt good enough for you and then lied that I was ill
James stared at his mother, his face a battlefield of love for the woman who raised him and shock at her horrible act. He looked broken, bewildered.
Mother how could you
Dont worry, Ive taken care of everything, Margaret said calmly. Ive already called all the guests and told them the wedding is cancelled by mutual agreement, to avoid gossip.
The world seemed to spin. She hadnt just destroyed a dress; she had erased our future, crossed it out as if it were an unnecessary appointment on a crowded diary.
James clutched his head.
You called the guests? You told them the wedding wont happen? Without us?
It was a necessary decision, she snapped. Youll thank me later, when you realise what disaster I saved you from.
I watched James. The moment had arrived the crucial turning point that would decide everything. He had to make a choice. He looked at me, desperation in his eyes, fear, pain, confusion. But I saw no resolve. He was a product of his mothers will.
And then I understood: she had won, not because she burned the dress, but because shed raised a man who, at the decisive moment, saw me as a problem to be solved rather than a woman to protect.
Jamess helpless stare was the final drop. All the shock and anguish melted away, leaving only a crystalcold clarity.
I took a deep breath, then smiled.
James flinched. Even Margaret, who had kept her composure, raised an eyebrow in surprise. My smile was a challenge.
Margaret Porter, I said evenly, almost kindly, you were right after all.
She looked bewildered. James stared at me as if Id spoken a foreign language.
What do you mean? he stammered.
I turned my gaze to him.
Your mother is right. Im not the one for you. I deserve a man who, seeing the ash of my dress, wont stand aside but will take my hand and lead me away forever. And you youre waiting, waiting for me to cry while your mother triumphs.
I faced Margaret again.
Thank you, I said sincerely. You have no idea how close I came to losing my whole life by getting involved with your son. You only burned a piece of fabric, and I almost burned my entire future.
For the first time, confusion flickered across her face. She was used to tears and scandals, not this quiet gratitude. My calm, my thanks left her baffled.
What are you blathering about? she hissed.
Just the truth, I shrugged. And one more thing. Since the weddings called off, the gifts should be returned.
I slipped the tiny diamond ring off my finger the one James had slipped onto my hand half a year ago on a rooftop overlooking the city lights. I didnt hand it back to him. I walked over to the barrel of ash.
Eleanor, no! James shouted, finally realizing what I was about to do.
But it was too late. I spread my fingers, and the ring, flashing its last glint, disappeared into the grey mass of ash and charred cloth.
Search for it, I said with a smile. Maybe its another sign, a test of how strong your relationship really is. Im leaving now.
I turned and headed for the gate, not looking back. I heard James call after me, heard Margarets angry voice, but their shouts became just background noise.
Outside, I fumbled for my phone. My hands tremblednot from sorrow, but from adrenaline.
I found my best friends number the one who was supposed to be my bridesmaid.
Lucy? Hey, I said into the receiver, feeling a grin creep back onto my lips. The weddings off tomorrow, but the partys on. Gather the girls. Weve got a better reason to celebrate my freedom.
The smile was genuine. The night was still young, and the celebration was mine.
