for the ceremony, Adam.”

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close. “This one looks perfect,” I said, tapping the photo of the outdoor venue. “I can already picture you walking down that aisle.”

Emily leaned against me. “Me too. Honestly, I’d marry you anywhere—even a courthouse.”

“I know you would,” I replied, kissing the top of her head. “But you deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of.”

And she truly had dreamed of it. Since childhood, Emily had collected ideas—magazine clippings, sketches of wedding gowns, and notes detailing her perfect day. She had an old album filled with these dreams, and every time we planned another aspect of our wedding, she would pull it out, flipping through the pages with the same excitement she had as a child.

“I’ve waited my whole life for this,” she’d say, smiling at me. “And I’m so happy it’s with you.”

Planning our wedding together only reinforced what I already knew—marrying Emily was the best decision of my life.

But there was one dark cloud in our otherwise perfect journey: Margaret, Emily’s stepmother.

At our engagement dinner, Margaret had grabbed Emily’s hand, scrutinized the ring, and asked, “Is this real or one of those lab-grown diamonds?” When Emily showed her our venue choices, Margaret sighed dramatically and muttered about “wasting money on frivolous things.”

Emily never complained, but I noticed how her shoulders tensed whenever Margaret entered the room. Still, she insisted on including her stepmother in the planning. “She’s been my dad’s wife for fifteen years. It’s important to him,” she said.

The wedding day arrived faster than I could have imagined. Standing in a side room of the venue, adjusting my boutonnière for the tenth time, I felt nothing but excitement. Soon, I would finally be Emily’s husband.

Then everything changed.

We had just sat down at the reception table, hands intertwined, when Emily slipped a small folded note into my palm.

I opened it, my stomach twisting as I read the words:

Say no at the altar.

I turned to her, my heart racing. “What?”

“Just trust me,” she whispered, squeezing my hand. “Do it.”

Everything in me screamed to demand answers, but the calm determination in her eyes told me this was planned. She knew exactly what she was doing.

I had trusted Emily since the day we met, and I wasn’t about to stop now.

The moment arrived.

We stood before the officiant as he asked, “Do you take Emily to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

I hesitated just long enough for a ripple of confusion to pass through the guests. Emily’s eyes locked onto mine, giving me a nearly imperceptible nod.

My mouth went dry.

“No.”

A stunned silence enveloped the crowd. A few guests gasped. Somewhere in the back, I heard a chair scrape against the floor.

Then, from the far side of the room, a slow, deliberate clap rang out.

A sharp, cruel laugh followed.

Margaret.

She was smirking, leaning back in her chair as if she had just won the lottery.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, shaking her head in mock sympathy. “I told you. I told you all.”

Emily’s father sat frozen, his face pale as Margaret turned toward him.

“We paid so much for this wedding,” she scoffed. “I told you it was a stupid idea. A complete waste of money. But no, you had to indulge her little fantasy. And for what? To watch her get humiliated?”

She gestured around the room, reveling in the stunned silence.

Emily’s fingers tightened around mine, her grip steady. She wasn’t panicked; she was prepared.

Margaret let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “You really thought he’d marry you?” she sneered. “I told you, sweetie. No one wants you.”

Something inside me snapped. I took a step forward, ready to confront Margaret, but Emily squeezed my hand again.

She wasn’t finished yet.

“Thank you, Margaret,” Emily said softly.

Margaret’s smug smile faltered. “For what?”

“For finally showing your true colors in front of everyone.”

A hush fell over the room.

Margaret’s expression darkened. “Excuse me?”

Emily straightened her shoulders, turning to her father. “Do you believe me now?”

For years, she had tried to tell him how Margaret belittled her and made her feel worthless. Each time, her father had dismissed it.

Emily had known that if I said no, Margaret would expose herself.

Now, there was no denying it.

Her father sat still, his eyes darting between his wife and daughter, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

Margaret, sensing she was losing control, let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, please. He wasn’t going to marry you. I just called it before it happened.”

Emily turned to me, her gaze softening. “That’s where you’re wrong.” She smiled. “Because he is going to marry me.”

I grinned. “Damn right, I am.”

Margaret’s face twisted in fury. “You—”

But before she could finish, Emily’s father pushed his chair back and stood.

“We’re done, Margaret.”

Margaret’s smirk vanished. “What?”

“You humiliated my daughter at her own wedding.” His voice trembled with anger. “I should have seen it earlier.”

Margaret looked around, realizing she had lost.

Two of my groomsmen—both security guards—stepped forward without being asked. They gently but firmly escorted her out as she hissed insults under her breath.

The doors slammed shut behind her.

Emily’s father turned to his daughter, his voice breaking. “Emily… I’m so sorry.”

Emily hugged him tightly. “I know, Dad. I know.”

The tension in the room slowly dissipated, replaced by a sense of relief.

Emily turned back to me, her eyes shining. “So… where were we?”

I dropped to one knee. “Emily, will you marry me?”

The guests erupted in cheers and applause.

And this time, when the officiant asked if I took Emily to be my wife, I shouted yes.

That was the day I married the bravest, kindest woman I had ever known.

She transformed what could have been a disaster into a moment of triumph.

From that day forward, I knew that nothing—and no one—could ever come between us again.