There was no wedding. The groom never showed up.
How many little girls dream of a white dress, a flower crown, and the shivers down their spine when they hear “I now pronounce you husband and wife”? Emily was one of them. She grew up quiet, gentle, dreamy, and tender-hearted. How many times had she closed her eyes during wedding scenes on telly, imagining herself one day walking arm-in-arm with the love of her life—music playing, guests beaming, her heart fluttering?
She met her William at university. They both studied law, though in different seminar groups. Tall, blond, fit, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he was impossible to miss. She—graceful, slender, with an elegant posture and a warm smile. The whole faculty said they were made for each other. William never left her side. He walked her home, brought her coffee on frosty mornings, doodled hearts in her notebooks. Their love was straight out of a romance novel—pure, tender, and true.
A year later, he proposed. By graduation, their parents already knew one another, shared trips to the countryside, became family friends. They planned the wedding for right after uni. Everything was perfect. Emily spent weeks dress-hunting with her mates, flipping through catalogues, dashing between bridal shops. Then one night, she dreamt of the perfect gown—delicate lace, cream silk, a whisper of a train—and woke up thinking, “That’s the one.”
She hurried to the nearest boutique with her friends. The sales assistant, Sarah, listened to her description, then grinned. “Funny you should say that—a dress just like that was returned last week. Want to see it?”
Emily fell in love at first sight—didn’t even need to try it on. It was as if the dress had been spun from her dreams. Only her best friend whispered, “Sarah 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 wrapped, and she trembled with anticipation for the big day.
The night before, she booked a hotel suite—time alone to think. She slipped into the gown, twirled before the mirror. For a moment, she swore her reflection wore a black ribbon in her hair. A chill ran through her, but she brushed it off. Just nerves.
Morning went like clockwork: makeup, hair, the dress… She looked straight off a magazine cover. Her parents gasped when they saw her. All that was left was waiting for William. An hour passed. Then another thirty minutes. Emily’s smile faded. Out the window, a police car pulled up. Something inside her snapped. She staggered into the hallway.
“Excuse me… are you Emily?” asked a young sergeant. “Your fiancé… William… he’s gone. A crash. Drunk driver veered into his lane. He didn’t make it.”
Emily didn’t cry. She just froze. Then she sank to the floor, hands over her face.
Three days later, she stood at the graveside in that same dress—now with a black ribbon in her hair. In her hands, a photo of them together. She placed it in the casket, leaned down, kissed William’s cold forehead, and whispered, “I’m sorry… if I’d known, I’d never have let you go.”
After that, no one ever saw her smile again. She seemed to fade, moving through life like a ghost. Her parents called it depression. Doctors called it adjustment disorder. But her mother knew—her daughter was slipping away.
Exactly one year later, on what should have been their anniversary, Emily’s heart stopped. The coroner wrote, “cardiac arrest in sleep.” In her hands, she clutched that wedding photo.
Their love had been real. Too real to survive.
Do you believe love can be so strong that life without it is unthinkable?
