The church smelled like lilies and wax, sweet and sharp, almost suffocating. My dress clung too tightly, my hands trembled around the bouquet, but I told myself it was just nerves. I had dreamed of this day since I was a child, twirling around in pillowcase veils, whispering names of boys I thought I’d marry. And now, here I was, standing at the altar, every eye on me. But the groom—my groom—wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at her. My cousin, Ava.
I noticed it in the way his smile faltered when I appeared. He held my hands too loosely, as though afraid they might burn him. My heart pounded louder than the priest’s words. When it came time for vows, he opened his mouth, then closed it again. His Adam’s apple bobbed. My stomach twisted. Something was wrong.
“I can’t,” he whispered. The microphone caught it, magnified it, sent it echoing through the cathedral like a curse. “I can’t do this.”
Gasps erupted. My mother’s hands flew to her face, mascara smudging. My father stood, rage boiling in his eyes. “What the hell are you saying?” he barked. But I barely heard him. All I could see was my fiancé—my almost-husband—dropping my hands like they were nothing.
“I’m sorry, Leah,” he said, voice shaking. “I thought I could. I tried. But I can’t marry you.”
My throat closed. “Why?” It scraped out of me, raw, begging.
He didn’t answer me. He turned. Slowly. Purposefully. Toward Ava, who sat in the second pew, wearing blush pink silk and wide eyes.
“No,” I whispered, horror flooding my veins. “No. Not her.”
But then he said it. Out loud. “I love Ava.”
The church exploded. Voices overlapped—shouts, cries, the sound of someone’s chair clattering to the floor. My aunt grabbed Ava’s arm, hissing something I couldn’t hear. Ava’s face burned red, but she didn’t pull away. She stood. She actually stood.
“Ethan,” she breathed, her voice trembling but her body steady. “Don’t.”
But he reached for her hand, right there at the altar, in front of everyone. In front of me.
My knees buckled, and if Lena, my maid of honor, hadn’t grabbed my arm, I would have collapsed. The lilies suddenly smelled like rot. The candles flickered, cruel and mocking. My bouquet slipped from my grip and hit the marble floor with a dull thud.
My father roared, “You shame her like this? In front of God?” But my mother just whispered, over and over, “Not Ava. Anyone but Ava.”
Ava’s hand trembled in his, but she didn’t let go. “I didn’t want this to happen like this,” she said, her voice breaking. “Leah, I swear—”
“Don’t,” I spat, tears blurring everything. My own cousin. My blood. She had braided my hair when we were little girls, whispered secrets under summer skies, promised we’d never hurt each other. And now here she was, standing at my wedding altar with the man I was supposed to marry.
The priest stood frozen, pale as the candles. Guests whispered like vultures circling. And me? I laughed. A jagged, broken laugh that silenced even my father. “Take him,” I said, my voice sharp enough to slice. “Take him, Ava. But remember—trash is still trash, no matter who carries it out.”
I ripped off my veil, the pins scratching my scalp, and hurled it to the floor. Gasps followed me as I stormed down the aisle, satin skirts dragging like chains. Outside, the sunlight hit me like fire, the air cool against my wet face. I didn’t care where I was going. I just knew I had to get away before I shattered completely.
That night, in my parents’ kitchen, I sat barefoot on the cold tile, mascara streaked like war paint. My phone buzzed with messages—apologies, gossip, pity. Ava had left with him. Together. That was all anyone could talk about.
But in the quiet, when the house finally stilled, I realized something. He didn’t leave me for her. He left me because he was too weak to be mine. And if she wanted to inherit that weakness, so be it.
I lost a groom and a cousin that day, but I found something else: the kind of anger that burns hot enough to forge strength. One day, when their love story collapses under the weight of betrayal it was built on, I’ll still be standing. Stronger. Unbreakable.
Final Thought
Sometimes betrayal doesn’t come from strangers but from the ones who share your blood. And sometimes losing both of them is the only way to save yourself.
