One week before her wedding, Tamara opens an unexpected email. What she finds inside doesn’t change the wedding plans — it changes everything. In the fallout, she discovers the kind of betrayal that doesn’t scream… it whispers. And she’s about to make sure everyone hears it.
The Week Before the Wedding
The week before your wedding is supposed to feel like magic.
Mine felt like my lungs were full of glass the entire time.
At 25, I had everything I thought a woman my age was supposed to want. I had a fiancé, Jake, who called me “his forever.” I had a wedding board on Pinterest with 132 pins. And a guest list full of people who cried when Jake proposed in the park where we’d had our first date.
We’d been together for four years, engaged for nearly two. And now we were seven days away from being a married couple.
Everyone said Jake was the kind of groom brides dream of. He actually cared about florals, color palettes, and signature cocktails. He came to every vendor meeting and told anyone who’d listen about the wedding.
“Tamara’s got amazing taste,” I overheard him say once. “I just want to help bring her vision to life.”
I thought it made me lucky.
“You’re not nervous about how involved he is?” my best friend, Maddie, asked once, half-laughing while we folded sample napkins in my living room. “I feel like most guys don’t know the difference between blush and mauve.”
“He just wants to help,” I said. “He says I get overwhelmed… and he’s not wrong. I can get a bit anxious when things don’t go to plan.”
Maddie raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. In hindsight, I should’ve paid more attention to that silence.
Maddie was my maid of honor. We’d been inseparable since we were 12, when I puked on her gym shoes on the first day of middle school. We survived first loves, my mom’s illness, dorm-room breakups — all of it.
She was the person who made the world feel safe.
Jake was my future. Maddie was my forever.
I was the idiot who thought I could trust them both.
Then the email arrived.
It didn’t come with drama. No ominous call, no mysterious stranger. Just a notification ping in the middle of an ordinary afternoon.
Subject line: “Please read this before Saturday.”
I clicked with zero suspicion. I thought it was a reminder from the venue or a last-minute detail. The sender was a name I recognized: Emily — one of the junior coordinators from the venue tour. Kind, a little too honest, the type of person you instinctively like.
There was no greeting. No warm introduction. Just one sentence:
“Your wedding will be ruined, Tamara. Be careful.”
Attached below was a file with my name on it.
When I opened it, my entire world collapsed in three seconds.
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