There was to be no wedding. The groom never arrived for his bride.
How many little girls dream from childhood of a white dress, a crown of flowers, the shiver down their spine at the words “I now pronounce you man and wife”? Emily was one of them. She grew up quiet and shy, dreamy and tender-hearted. So often she’d close her eyes when wedding ceremonies played on the telly, imagining the day she, too, would walk arm in arm with her beloved—to music, under adoring gazes, her heart trembling.
She met her William at university. Both studied law, though in different seminar groups. He was tall, fair-haired, fit, with a glint of mischief in his eyes. She was graceful, slender, with delicate posture and a gentle smile. The whole department said they were made for each other. William never left her side—walked her home, brought her coffee on frosty mornings, doodled hearts in her notebooks. Their love was like something from a novel—pure, tender, sincere.
A year passed, and he proposed. By their dissertation defenses, their parents already knew each other, shared weekends at the countryside cottage, became family friends. They planned to marry straight after graduation. Everything seemed perfect. Emily spent weeks with her mates hunting for the right dress, flipping through catalogues, darting between boutiques. Then one night, she dreamt of it—a gown of the finest lace, ivory silk, a whisper of a train—and woke thinking, *That one’s meant for me.*
She rushed to the nearest bridal shop with her friends. The assistant, Alice, listened to her description, then smiled suddenly. “Funny, we just had one returned—exactly as you said. Shall I fetch it?”
Emily fell in love at first sight, before even trying it on. It was as if woven from her dream. Only when her friend whispered, “Alice said the other bride’s wedding never happened… Maybe it’s bad luck?” did she hesitate. But Emily wouldn’t hear it. Fate was fate. The dress was wrapped, and she waited, breathless, for the big day.
The night before, she booked a hotel room—to be alone, to gather her thoughts. She slipped into the gown once more, spun before the mirror. Then, for just a moment, she thought she saw a black ribbon in her reflection. A shiver ran through her, but she brushed it off as nerves.
Morning went smoothly: the makeup, the hair, the dress… Emily looked straight out of a magazine. When her parents entered, they gasped. All that was left was to wait for William. An hour passed. Then another thirty minutes. Emily’s smile faded. Through the window, she spotted a police car. Her chest tightened. She stepped into the hallway, legs unsteady.
“Miss… Emily?” A young constable hesitated. “Your fiancé… William… There’s been an accident. Drunk driver crossed the centre line. He didn’t make it.”
Emily didn’t cry. She froze. Then she sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands.
Three days later, she stood at the graveside in that same dress—now with a black ribbon in her hair. Clutching a photograph of them both, she laid it in the coffin, bent down, kissed William’s cold brow, and whispered, “Forgive me… If I’d known, I’d never have let you go.”
After that, no one saw her smile again. She seemed to fade, moving through life like a ghost. Her parents called it grief. The doctors called it adjustment disorder. But her mother knew—her daughter was slipping away.
Exactly a year later, on the day that should’ve been their anniversary, Emily’s heart stopped. The coroner wrote “cardiac arrest in sleep.” In her hands, they found that wedding photo.
Their love had been real. Too real to outlive.
Do you believe love can be so strong that life without it is impossible?…
