I was working overtime when I received her WeChat message. "Sister, I'm getting married next month and I need a bridesmaid. Can you come?" I knew her. Everyone thought I didn't. I replied with two words: "Okay." I didn't ask for details. She didn't say anything either. A month later, I stood at the wedding venue, wearing the dress she had chosen. The music started, and she walked in, arm in arm with her father, smiling beautifully. And waiting for her groom there—was "him."
Phone Buzz
Head bent over scattered documents, the phone on my desk suddenly buzzed . A glance at the screen showed an unfamiliar profile picture. A new friend request. My finger swiped it open. The verification field held a single effusive line:" Hi Sister Amy! This is Lia! I absolutely love your style! Need a favor—mind adding me?" Followed by a playful emoji. Lia? I rifled through my memory, certain I didn't know her.
As a fashion blogger with a modest following, such random appeals weren’t unusual. Perhaps an avid fan seeking style advice. Without overthinking, I tapped "Accept Request," set the phone down, and refocused on the files.
No sooner had I resumed typing than a sharp "Ding!" pierced the air. Another message from Lia. An image attachment. Annoyance flickering, I opened it. A pristine white wedding invitation, exquisitely crafted, with elegant gilt script gleaming: "Lia & Mark warmly invite you to witness our sacred union…" Mark? My breath seized. Mark?! An invisible hand clenched my heart, plunging it into an abyss. Frigid numbness shot from head to toe.
Blinking through blurred vision, I forced my gaze to sharpen. Mark. Mark Lee. My Mark. The fiancé who’d embraced me last week murmuring "Goodnight, darling." Now, his name stood boldly beside another—Lia—in the most glorious font. Nausea surged. My elbow jerked involuntarily against the table edge. Clatter. The coffee cup toppled. Scalding brown liquid flooded the pale tablecloth, sprawling like a grotesque, expanding map.
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