Just before the ceremony, Amy pressed a white envelope into my hand. “Give this to Leo after the vows,” she said, her voice calm but distant. I didn’t ask why. I just nodded, sensing something deeper beneath her serene smile.
The wedding was beautiful. Leo looked radiant, Amy graceful. They exchanged vows under a canopy of white roses, kissed, and the crowd cheered. But I held that envelope like a secret waiting to detonate.
At the reception, I found Leo alone and handed him the letter. He joked, expecting romance. But as he read, his smile vanished. He folded the paper slowly, placed it on the bar, and walked out without a word.
I followed him outside. “What did she write?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Just said, “You should’ve warned me,” and drove off.
Later, I opened the letter myself. Amy knew about Tasha—Leo’s secret affair. She’d found hotel bills, deleted messages, and lies. She’d waited for honesty. It never came. So she gave him the wedding, then the truth.
That night, Leo picked me up from the curb where I sat stunned. We went to a diner, silent. Over coffee, he confessed. “I thought marriage would fix it,” he said. “I loved her.”
“Love doesn’t hide,” I replied.
The next morning, Amy came to my door. She handed me another envelope. “This one’s for you,” she said. “I loved him. But I love myself more.”
Her letter was clear. She let Leo pay for everything—the venue, the flowers, the cake—so every memory would be his to carry. It wasn’t revenge. It was truth. She’d chosen herself.
Two days later, a small box arrived. Inside was her wedding ring. No note. Just silence.
Leo stayed with me for a while, haunted by that day. Amy disappeared—no contact, no closure. But her letters remain, tucked in a box. A reminder that truth, once spoken, can unravel everything.
