I should have been unwrapping crystal vases or fancy toasters. Instead, I opened her gift—and found the truth that unraveled everything I thought I knew about her.
Lena had been my best friend since high school. She was the one who lent me her lipstick before prom, who held my hand through breakups, who swore we’d be “sisters forever.”
So of course, when I got engaged, she was the first person I told. She squealed so loudly the barista gave us dirty looks, then grabbed my hand and said, “You deserve this more than anyone.”
She was also my maid of honor. She planned the bachelorette party, decorated my bridal shower, toasted me with tears in her eyes. Everyone told me how lucky I was to have a friend like her.
And I believed it.
The wedding itself was beautiful—candles flickering, music swelling, the air thick with perfume and laughter. Lena hugged me tightly after the ceremony, whispering, “You’re glowing. I’ve never seen you so happy.”
A week later, I sat cross-legged in our new apartment, surrounded by towers of gifts. Michael handed me the one from Lena, wrapped in elegant gold paper with a silver ribbon.
“She always did have good taste,” he said, smiling.
I tugged the ribbon loose, unfolded the paper, and lifted the lid. Inside was a velvet box. I opened it, expecting jewelry. Instead, there were letters. Dozens of them. Folded carefully, tied with a faded blue ribbon.
At first, I thought they were meant for me. But when I opened the first one, my blood ran cold.
Dear Lena, it began. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this a secret. Being with you while I’m engaged to her is tearing me apart…
The handwriting was unmistakable. Michael’s.
My vision blurred as I tore through the letters, one after another. Words leapt out at me like knives: our nights together… if only she knew… you’re the one I really want…
My hands shook. My stomach churned. These weren’t love letters to me. They were confessions—to her. To my best friend.
Michael’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “What did she get us?”
I clutched the letters, my chest heaving. “Come here,” I called, my voice raw.
He stepped into the room, smiling—until he saw my face. “What’s wrong?”
I held up the stack of letters. “Explain this.”
His face drained of color. He didn’t even try to deny it.
Lena’s note lay on top, scrawled in her familiar handwriting: You deserve the truth. I couldn’t stand there smiling at your wedding without you knowing who he really is.
I don’t remember much after that. Just shouting, tears, the sound of something breaking. By the end of the night, the marriage I thought I had was already over.
It’s been a year now. Michael is gone. Lena too. I never spoke to either of them again.
Sometimes I still wonder why she gave me those letters—why she chose my wedding to drop the truth like a bomb. Was it guilt? Spite? Some twisted attempt at honesty?
I’ll never know.
But here’s what I’ve learned: betrayal doesn’t always come from strangers. Sometimes it comes wrapped in gold paper, tied with a silver ribbon, smiling as it hands you a gift you’ll never forget.
