I’ve been to many weddings, but none as shocking as my best friend Dave’s. When his bride, Shanize, walked down the aisle, something felt wrong. Her steps were hesitant, her posture stiff. At first, I thought it was nerves—until I noticed the way her dress moved.
Unable to ignore my instincts, I lifted the edge of her gown. What I saw made my blood run cold. Instead of delicate heels, there were polished men’s dress shoes.
The gasps were immediate. The “bride” smirked, pulling off his veil to reveal Dave’s best man. “Shanize isn’t here,” he announced. “She found out about your affair.”
Dave’s face crumpled. The wedding had been a ruse—a public reckoning for his betrayal. The bridesmaid he’d been seeing sat in the pews, trembling under the weight of exposed secrets.
As the crowd erupted in whispers, the best man walked away, leaving Dave alone at the altar. The woman he loved had vanished, replaced by a humiliation he’d never forget.
Some weddings end with “I do.” This one ended with “I knew.”
