The Happiest Day of My Life
Our wedding took place in early autumn at a renovated barn surrounded by maple trees.
Emily walked down the aisle in a simple ivory dress, and the entire world seemed to disappear.
Ryan stood beside me in a dark suit. When Emily reached us, he leaned close and whispered, “Don’t faint. I refuse to catch you.”
The ceremony was beautiful.
Claire cried before the vows began. My mother cried through them. My father cried when he thought nobody was looking.
By the reception, everyone was relaxed. Warm lights glowed above the tables. Music filled the barn, children danced near the dessert table, and old friends shared school stories.
Ryan gave no sign that anything was wrong.
He laughed with Emily’s father, toasted with our cousins, and pulled me onto the dance floor during a song we both hated.
Then, shortly after dinner, he stood and reached for the microphone.
The room slowly quieted.
I expected jokes or an embarrassing childhood photograph.
Instead, Ryan’s expression became completely serious.
He looked directly at me.
“Today,” he said, “is the day I get my revenge for what you’ve done to me.”
