She didn’t ask if I had time, or if I liked the place, or if I’d even agreed to wear the dress she picked out last week.
That week became a blur of appointments I never made. Cake tastings for flavors I didn’t like. Table settings and shades of beige I’d never choose.
Grant kept saying, “It’s just easier to let her do her thing. My mom’s been dreaming of this longer than we have.”
And every time I tried to raise a suggestion, like having a smaller reception or skipping the choreographed first dance, I was met with a version of the same line.
“Talia, come on. You don’t want to disappoint everyone, do you?”
No one asked what I wanted. They just assumed I wanted what they did.
Two weeks before the wedding, we went to the courthouse to finalize our documents.
While we waited in line, a young couple stood in front of us, maybe mid-20s, laughing and whispering like high school sweethearts. The girl turned around and said, “You guys getting married, too?”
I nodded.
She grinned. “We’ve been together three years. Finally decided to make it official.”
“Two years for us,” Grant said proudly. “Feels like the right time.”
“Do you live together already?” she asked me.
“Yeah, eight months now.”
She beamed.
“That’s great. We can’t wait to move in together. Breakfasts in pajamas, movie nights. It’s going to be amazing.”
I smiled politely, but felt a pang, jealousy maybe, or regret. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that kind of unfiltered joy. Not since we started planning. Not since everything became a list of deliverables.
When it was our turn, the clerk asked, “Will you be changing your last name, Miss Mercer?”
Before I could answer, Grant spoke up.
“Of course she will. She’s going to be a Campbell.”
The woman looked at me over her glasses.
“I need the bride to answer.”
I forced a smile.
“Yes, I’ll change it.”
Afterward, Grant looked confused when I didn’t hold his hand in the parking lot.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s just a name, Talia.”
But it wasn’t. It was the first page of a new chapter written by someone else.
At the next wedding meeting, Judith brought in a clipboard with a full itinerary.
“Ceremony starts at 4, then cocktail hour, then dinner. I spoke with the DJ. He’ll play Endless Love for your first dance.”
“I don’t really dance,” I said. “Grant doesn’t either.”
“Nonsense,” she snapped. “Everyone dances on their wedding day. It’s tradition.”
“Maybe we could just keep it simple.”
“Talia, sweetie,” she cut in. “This is the biggest day of your life. You want it to be perfect.”
But I didn’t want perfect. I wanted real. I wanted something that still felt like mine.
Later that night, I sat on the couch flipping through the wedding binder Judith had assembled. It was thick with glossy pages, color swatches, and price tags.
My name was on every page, but none of the choices were mine.
Grant came in and sat beside me.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“That couple at the courthouse,” I said. “The way she talked about breakfast in pajamas.”
He smiled.
“That’s cute. Young love.”
“Is that not what we have?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Ours is mature, stable, grounded. That’s better, right?”
He kissed my temple and turned on the TV, leaving me staring at the binder in my lap.
I flipped to the page titled vows.
It was blank.
The reception was winding down when I finally let myself step outside. My head was pounding from the laughter, the speeches, the endless clinking of glasses.
Inside, people were still dancing, still drinking, still celebrating what they believed was the beginning of something beautiful. But for me, it felt like the end of something I couldn’t quite name.
I stood alone under the string lights outside the venue, holding a glass of champagne I hadn’t touched.
That was when it hit me.
A few months ago, I’d walked into the hallway at Judith’s house, just in time to hear her on the phone with one of her friends.
“We finally found her,” she had said. “The kind of girl who won’t push back. Not too flashy, not too needy, someone Grant can mold, someone who’ll fit in.”
I had laughed it off back then, telling myself she meant it kindly.
But now, standing there in the dress she chose, at the party she planned, I finally understood.
I hadn’t been chosen for who I was. I’d been selected for how easy I was to shape.
My dress was beautiful lace and satin, exactly what Judith had envisioned. Not me.
The music shifted to something slow and sentimental. Through the glass doors, I could see Grant talking to his cousins, laughing, clapping one of them on the back like he’d just closed a business deal.
I tried to remember the last time we had laughed like that.
I couldn’t.
“You okay?” he asked suddenly at my side.
“Just needed some air.”
He slipped his arm around me.
“It’s been a long day. Tomorrow we leave for Sedona. You’ll finally get to relax.”
I smiled automatically.
Sedona. The wellness retreat. The “calm before responsibility” week, as he called it. Meditation, massages, quiet trails.
“Sounds peaceful,” I murmured.
“It will be just the two of us. No moms, no checklists.”
His voice was so warm, so certain. And I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
That night, after he got back to the apartment, he fell asleep almost instantly. I lay beside him for nearly an hour, staring at the ceiling, still wearing my wedding ring, still in the silk slip Judith had insisted I pack for the wedding night.
I listened to his breathing settle, the steady rhythm of a man content. I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, trying to convince myself that this was just nerves, that I’d feel better in the morning.
I whispered his name once just to see if he’d stir.
He didn’t.
His breathing remained slow, peaceful, like someone who had everything he wanted.
And I realized I was the only one lying awake, wondering if this was a mistake.
I had promised forever today, but I hadn’t promised to disappear inside someone else’s dream.
And I knew then I couldn’t do it.
I slid out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him. In the living room, the shadows stretched long across the floor. I picked up my phone and called the one person who might understand.