There was no wedding. The groom never arrived to meet his bride.
How many little girls dream from childhood of a white dress, a floral wreath, the shivers down their spine at the words “I now pronounce you husband and wife”? Emily was one of them. She grew up quiet, reserved—dreamy and tender-hearted. How many times had she closed her eyes during televised wedding ceremonies, imagining the day she’d walk arm in arm with the love of her life—music playing, admiring glances all around, her heart trembling with joy?
She met her William back at university. They both studied law, though in different seminar groups. Tall, fair-haired, athletic, with mischievous eyes—he was everything she could want. She was graceful, slender, with elegant posture and a gentle smile. The whole faculty said they were made for each other. William never left her side—walking her home, bringing her coffee on frosty mornings, doodling hearts in her notebooks. Their love was like something from a novel—pure, tender, utterly sincere.
A year passed, and he proposed. By graduation, their parents knew each other well—holidays at the countryside cottage, family dinners. The wedding was set for just after uni. Everything was perfect. Emily spent weeks with her friends hunting for the right dress, flipping through catalogues, visiting boutiques. Then one night, she dreamt of it—delicate lace, cream silk, a whisper of a train. She woke thinking, That’s the one.
She rushed to the nearest bridal shop. The assistant, Sophie, listened to her description and smiled.
“We had a dress returned recently—exactly as you’ve described. Would you like to see it?”
Emily fell in love at first sight. It was woven from her very dream. A friend leaned in, whispering, “Sophie said the other bride’s wedding never happened… Maybe it’s bad luck?” But Emily wouldn’t hear it. Fate was fate. The dress was packed, and she waited, trembling, for the big day.
The night before, she stayed alone at the hotel—to reflect, to breathe. She tried the dress again, twirling before the mirror. Then, for a second, she thought she saw a black ribbon in her reflection. A chill ran through her, but she brushed it off as nerves.
Morning ran smooth—makeup, hair, the dress. Emily looked like she’d stepped from a magazine. Her parents, entering the room, gasped at the sight. All that was left was to wait for William. An hour passed. Then thirty more minutes. Emily’s smile faded. Through the window, she spotted a police car. Something inside her snapped. She staggered into the hallway.
“Excuse me… Emily?” A young sergeant’s voice was soft. “Your fiancé… William… he’s gone. A crash. Drunk driver, crossed the centre line. He didn’t make it.”
Emily didn’t cry. She just stood there, frozen. Then she slid to the floor, hands pressed to her face.
Three days later, she stood at the cemetery in that same dress—now with a black ribbon in her hair. In her hands, a photograph of them together. She placed it in the coffin, bent down, kissed his cold forehead, and whispered,
“Forgive me… if I’d known, I’d never have let you go.”
After that, no one saw her smile again. She faded, moving through life like a ghost. Her parents called it depression. The doctors called it adjustment disorder. But her mother knew—her daughter was slipping away.
Exactly a year later, on what should have been their anniversary, Emily’s heart stopped in her sleep. The doctors wrote, “cardiac arrest during rest.” Clutched in her hands was that same 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?…
