As I stood at the altar, my hands shook against the ivory silk of my wedding dress as the deep notes of the organ echoed through St. Michael’s Cathedral. Two hundred people—friends, family, and coworkers—were looking at me, all waiting for me to become Mrs. Nathaniel Reid. The late morning sun shone through the stained glass windows, making rainbow shadows on the marble floor.
But I wasn’t overjoyed. It was pounding with a terrible, crushing awareness that made me feel like I was going to break in half. How long had they been lying to me?
I could see my stepmother in the front pew behind all the other people who were waiting. She was wearing an emerald dress that matched well and her smile was bright. She looked like a proud mother. I would have believed that smile twenty-four hours ago. I lived in a world where stepmothers safeguarded their daughters and love was something precious just twenty-four hours ago.
Nathaniel held my hand tightly, and his blue eyes were warm with what I had previously thought was love. “Are you ready for this, Celeste?”He murmured, and his voice had that same confident tone that had lured me to him three years before. I glanced at his face—the strong jawline I’d traced with my fingers and the mouth that had promised me forever—and I felt like my world had become perfectly clear, but also dreadful.
“Oh, I’m ready,” I said back, my voice firm even though my heart was racing. “More ready than you think.”
Three months ago, I was happy in a stupid way. I was twenty-eight years old and thought I knew everything there was to know. My name is Celeste Marianne Darin. I was the daughter my parents had always wanted. I graduated from Georgetown with a degree in literature and worked as a senior editor at Meridian Publishing. I had just gotten engaged to Nathaniel Reid, the golden boy of our community.
Our engagement was like a storybook. Nathaniel was the son of Judge Harrison Reid and philanthropist Victoria Reid. He was thirty-one years old and quite good-looking. He was a corporate lawyer at one of D.C.’s best firms, drove a BMW, and asked me to marry him at the Kennedy Center during the intermission of Swan Lake, my favorite ballet.
That night, my stepmother Diana talked about how beautiful their life would be together. She admired the two-carat diamond ring that sparkled like trapped starfire. “The Reids are a very well-known family. You did a great job, honey.
I should have noticed how she said it: not “you’ll be happy” or “he’s perfect for you,” but “you’ve done well,” as if I had finished a deal instead of finding my love. My father, Pastor William Darin, had been quieter but just as happy.
He had established his name on family values and conventional morality, so watching his only daughter marry into such a respected family seemed like a blessing on everything he had preached for thirty years. Dad had stated, “Nathaniel is a good man,” and then he pulled me into one of his warm, comforting hugs after supper that night. “I can tell how much he cares about you, Celeste.” And most importantly, I can see how much you adore him. The term that would later make my mouth taste bad.
The next two months were spent planning the wedding. My stepmother worked so hard on the preparations that it both touched and tired me. She wanted to take care of everything, from the flowers and food to the music and even my dress fittings.
“This is every stepmother’s dream,” she would say as she flipped through magazines and made phone calls all day. “Planning the perfect wedding for her daughter.”
I was thankful for her help, even when she didn’t always agree with what I wanted. I proposed wildflowers for the bouquet, but she insisted on white roses and peonies. I asked for a basic string quartet, but she got a whole orchestra. When I said I wanted to write my own vows, she talked me out of it and said that traditional vows were more elegant.
“Trust me, sweetheart,” she would say with the smile I got from her. “Step step mother knows best.”
Nathaniel seemed to find our family life funny. He would regularly show up without warning and tell my parents stories about his legal practice and praise my stepmother’s food. While I finished business calls or graded manuscripts, he and Diana would spend a long time in the kitchen together. Their laughter floated through our colonial-style house like music.
He told me one night as we went through Meridian Park, the same road where he first asked me to be his girlfriend, “Your stepmother is amazing.” “She works so hard to make sure everything is perfect for us.”
I held his hand and said, “She’s always been like that.” “When I was a kid, she would spend weeks getting ready for my birthday parties.” Everything had to be perfect.
“And they always were, I’m sure.” He stopped walking and turned to face me, putting his hands on my face. “Just like you are.”
I should have thought about why he talked about my stepmother so much. I should have wondered why his eyes would stay on her when she laughed or why he always appeared to know what wine to bring that would make her happy. I was very much in love. And love, I was starting to realize, makes us very blind.
Three weeks before the wedding, the first crack showed up. I stopped by my parents’ place after work to finish making seating plans. I had a lot of RSVP cards in my arms and a lot of manuscripts in my laptop bag. It was very quiet in the home as I opened the front door.
“Mom? Dad?I called and put my luggage down in the lobby.
“In the kitchen, sweetheart,” my stepmother said, but there was something strange about her voice. It sounded breathless and almost panicked. I saw her standing at the sink with her back to me, cleaning dishes that seemed too clean. Her dark hair, which was usually flawlessly done, was messy, and her cheeks were pink when she turned around.
“Oh, Celeste, dear, I didn’t think you would come so soon.”
I looked at my watch and remarked, “It’s 6:30.” “Same time I always come on Wednesdays.”
“Of course, of course.” She dried her hands on a dish towel and didn’t look at me. “Your dad is at church.” Meeting of the board.
I had a strange feeling, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The kitchen smelt different than usual. It didn’t smell like my stepmother’s vanilla candles; it smelled like something else, something rich and manly.
“Was someone here?”I inquired, sitting down at the kitchen counter with the RSVP cards.
“What? No, no. “Just me.” She looked back at the sink. “How was your day, sweetheart?”»
I almost let it go. Almost. But then I saw something on the counter: a coffee mug that belonged to our good china set, which we only used for special guests. It was still hot.
“Mom, whose cup is this?”Her shoulders got tight.
“Of course, my. You only drink tea at night.
“I… I was tired. “I needed the caffeine.” The falsehood hung between us like a live wire. My stepmother was never excellent at lying. I knew her tells as well as I knew my own heartbeat: how she didn’t look me in the eye, how her voice shook a little, and how she had to wash the dishes all the time.
But I adored her. And I had faith in her. So I decided to have faith. “Okay,” I answered simply as I opened the first RSVP card. “Let’s work out these seating plans.”
The night went on as usual, but something was different. I saw my stepmother looking at her phone a lot and tapping her fingers nervously on the counter. When Nathaniel contacted me at 8 to say he was working late and would see me tomorrow, I could tell that her whole body relaxed.
A week later, the second crack happened. Nathaniel had been distant, saying that work was too much for him. He had missed our cake-tasting meeting with the bakery and our normal Thursday night supper had been canceled twice. When I called his office, his secretary told me he had left early.
I drove to his Georgetown apartment, a stylish high-rise with a doorman who knew my name. It felt like forever to get to the 15th floor by elevator. I knocked on his door, but when he didn’t answer, I used my key.
“Are you okay, Nathaniel?”It was dark in the apartment, but his automobile was in the garage. I yelled his name again as I walked across the room we had already started planning to remodel following our honeymoon. There was a wine glass on the coffee table, but the living room was vacant. I only saw one, but it had lipstick on the edge that I didn’t know.
“Nathaniel?I tried to open his bedroom door, but it was locked. That was odd; he never locked his bedroom door.
His voice sounded through the wood, muted and strange. “I’m here.” “I’m… I’m not feeling good, Celeste. I think it’s food poisoning.
“Let me help you.”
“No, no. I don’t want you to get sick. Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.I remained there for a long time, looking at the door that was locked.
Nathaniel had never said no to me helping him while he was unwell in the three years we were together. He was the kind of guy who wanted to be pampered when he had a headache. But once more, I opted to trust instead of doubt.
«Feel better,» I whispered to the door. “I love you.”
«Love you too,» the words came a beat too late.
Water can discover weaknesses in a foundation, just like the truth can find its way out. It came flooding in two days before my wedding. My phone rang when I was at work attempting to concentrate on a manuscript about medieval poetry. The number that showed up on the caller ID was my stepmother’s.
“Celeste, honey, I need a favor.”
“Of course. What’s wrong?»
“I left some wedding programs in my car, and I’m having lunch with Mrs. Chin from the Flower Committee.” Would you mind stopping by the house to get them? There is a manila envelope on the passenger seat of my Mercedes with them in it.
“Sure, no problem.”
It took twenty minutes to drive through D.C. to get to my folks’ house. traffic. I used my key to pass through the front gate and parked behind my stepmother’s car. The Mercedes was unlocked, which is normal for our safe neighborhood. As soon as I opened the passenger door, I saw the manila envelope. But when I went for it, something else caught my sight.
There was a little black leather notebook stuck between the seats. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if my stepmother hadn’t scribbled my name on the cover. I was shaking as I opened it.
The first page was written three months ago, right after I told everyone I was getting engaged. Nathaniel Reid is everything I should have married. Good-looking, successful, and from a good family. Instead, I went with William and his middle-class church. But maybe it’s not too late. For once, maybe I deserve something nice.
My hands let go of the notebook. I was in the driver’s seat of my stepmother’s automobile, staring at her writing while the world slanted sideways. I picked up the notebook with shaky hands and kept reading.
He looks at me like William used to before the years and the same old thing wore him down. When Nathaniel tells me how nice my clothing or cooking is, I recall what it was like to be wanted. He stayed after Celeste went to work today. We talked about books and travel for hours. He stated I was wasting my time living in a little town. Yes, he is.
I know this isn’t right. I know what it would do to Celeste if she found out. But when was the last time someone choose me? They really chose me, not because they had to or because it was the right thing to do.
My stepmother’s precise handwriting recorded the slow, methodical seduction of my fiancé on page after page, entry after entry. He kissed me today. I kissed him back, God help me. We had sex in his apartment while Celeste was at her book club. He told me I was more passionate than any other woman he’d ever been with. I felt like I was alive again.
Nathaniel thinks that after the wedding, we’ll figure out how to be together. He claims he has to marry Celeste, but his heart belongs to me now.
The last entry was made yesterday. He’ll come over tomorrow night, the night before the wedding, while William is at his bachelor party planning meeting. This is the last time we’ll be together before Celeste becomes his wife. We’ll need to be more careful after that. But we can’t stop now.
I shut the journal and sat very still. The suburban afternoon went on around me. Kids riding bikes, dogs barking at mail carriers, and sprinklers watering well-kept lawns. Life went on as usual, but my whole world fell apart.
For how long? I couldn’t stop thinking about the question. How long have they been making fun of me behind my back? I remembered every supper they had together, every family event where they had exchanged looks that I had been too trusting to read accurately.
I thought about how my father was going to accompany me down the aisle tomorrow, not knowing that his wife was sleeping with the groom. I thought about all the ways the two people who were meant to love me the most in the world had lied to me, used me, and let me down.
That was when the tears finally flowed. They were hot, angry tears that tasted like salt and betrayal. I cried till my chest hurt, until my mascara poured down my cheeks in dark streams, and until all that was left inside me was a cold, clear feeling. They picked each other over me. Now I would pick myself over them.
That night, I didn’t go home. Instead, I checked into the Willard InterContinental under a fake name, paid in cash, and told the front desk receptionist that I was surprising my spouse for our anniversary. It was easy to lie. It seems that I was learning how to lie as well as my stepmother and fiancé.
I laid everything out on the king-sized bed in my hotel room like a detective would do with evidence: my stepmother’s journal, screenshots of Nathaniel’s recent credit card statements (we had combined our accounts to pay for the wedding), and a list of all the indicators I had overlooked. The smell of costly cologne in my parents’ kitchen. The lipstick on the wine glass in Nathaniel’s room. He suddenly knew a lot about my stepmother’s favorite wine.
The way they both insisted on traditional wedding vows. They probably anticipated I might say something in my personal vows that would show how guilty they were. I ordered room service and sat on the bed with my legs crossed, eating expensive spaghetti as I thought of ways to destroy them.
The old Celeste would have talked to them about it in private. She would have mourned and wanted answers, and in the end, she probably would have been tricked into forgiving. The old Celeste felt that love could conquer anything and that everyone should get a second chance.
But the old Celeste was no longer alive. She died reading her stepmother’s journal in a Mercedes-Benz while everything else in her life fell apart. The new Celeste knew that certain betrayals were too deep to be fixed between two people.
It wasn’t only about a cheating fiancée or an unfaithful stepmother. This was about two people who had planned to make me a part of my own shame. Who had planned to keep seeing each other after I got married. Who had taken my happiness and my pride. They wanted to have fun. Okay. I had learned from the best.
I called my assistant at Meridian Publishing. “Jenna, I need you to help me out. Can you make a list of all the people who are going to my wedding tomorrow? Email addresses, phone numbers, and social media accounts. All of it.”
“Of course.” Is everything all right? You sound…
I said, “Everything’s perfect,” and for the first time in days, I meant it. “I just want to make sure that everyone has all the information they need for tomorrow.”
I next called Priya, my college friend who worked as a freelance journalist in New York.
“Celeste! Oh my god, your wedding is tomorrow! Are you going crazy? I’m very happy.
“Priya, I need your help.” And I don’t want you to ask questions.
“Okay,” she said in a wary voice. “What kind of favor?”»
“Bring your camera and press credentials to St. Michael’s Cathedral tomorrow.” I want to record something newsworthy that is going to happen.
“Celeste, you’re making me scared.”
“I’m not the one who should be scared.”
The last call was the hardest. I called my dad’s number because I knew he would be home from his meeting.
“Celeste. You shouldn’t be calling me, sweetheart. Isn’t it bad luck for the bride’s father to chat to her the night before the wedding?»
“Dad,” I replied, and my voice broke a little. “I love you.” I need you to remember that I love you and that none of this is your fault, no matter what happens tomorrow.
“Sweetheart, you’re making me worried. What’s the matter?»
“Everything is OK, Dad. Everything is going to be okay now.
I remained in the quiet hotel room for a long time after I hung up, thinking about retribution and justice and how they are different. Revenge was about hurting someone. Justice was about finding the truth. I would grin as I served justice tomorrow.
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I got up at dawn and ordered coffee from room service. I sat by the window in my hotel bathrobe while the sun painted Washington, D.C. in pink and gold colors. I was going to be Mrs. Nathaniel Reid in six hours. Instead, I was about to become something far stronger: a woman who would not let anyone make a fool of her.
All morning, my phone had been humming with texts from my stepmother. Good morning, lovely bride. I hope you had a good night’s sleep. I can’t wait to watch you go down the aisle today. The flowers are great, the musicians are getting ready, and I checked with the photographer. Everything is in its right place. Sweetheart, I love you so much. Today will be the best day of your life. Every communication felt like a knife wrapped in silk.
At nine, I took a long shower to wash away the last traces of the woman I used to be. I looked in the bathroom mirror when I got out. I really looked, maybe for the first time in months. My hair is dark, just like my stepmother’s. My father gave me my blue eyes. People had always said my face was nice, but never anything special. Today, I would be amazing.
I drove leisurely to the cathedral, taking the long way through downtown D.C. The weather was great for a wedding in the morning: cool and clear. In the dawn light, St. Michael’s Cathedral looked beautiful. Its gothic spires reached up to heaven like stone prayers.
Cars were already coming: early visitors, merchants, and family members getting ready for what they assumed would be a party. I parked in the parking behind the cathedral and sat for a while, watching folks I had known my whole life get ready for my big day. Mrs. Chin is on the flower committee. Mr. Rodriguez, who lived next door to us for twenty years. Nathaniel’s law school friends were laughing and fixing their ties.
All of these individuals who cared about me had taken time out of their Saturday to see what they thought would be the start of my happy ending. They have a right to know the truth as well. I took my wedding dress, shoes, and makeup bag and walked through the side door of the cathedral that led to the bride preparation area.
There was already a lot going on in the limited space. Kathleen, my matron of honor, was hanging up her dress, while my two bridesmaids were setting up a coffee station and arranging flowers.
“Celeste!”Kathleen ran over to hug me and said, “Oh my god, you look great.” How do you feel?»
I said, “Like today is going to change everything,” and it was the most honest thing I’d spoken in days.
“Where is your stepmother?” I thought she would have come by now.
I looked at my phone. Diana hasn’t sent me any new messages since her sickeningly lovely good-morning SMS. I said, “She’s probably at home getting ready.” “You know how she wants everything to be just right.”
What I didn’t tell was that I knew exactly where my stepmother was since I had been tracking Nathaniel’s phone since last night using our joint account. He stayed the night at our house and left at 6:30 this morning, most likely to avoid being seen by my father or neighbors. One last betrayal for the sake of the past.
I felt unusually peaceful as my bridesmaids helped me put on my dress. The ivory silk felt like armor on my skin, and when they buttoned up the dozens of tiny pearl buttons on my back, I felt like I was becoming someone else. Someone who is stronger.
Of course, my stepmother had picked out the dress. A classic A-line dress with long sleeves, a cathedral train, and so many beads that they look like stars. I wanted something simpler and more modern, but Diana persisted.
During the fitting, she said, “This dress will look great in pictures.” “Classic elegance never goes out of style.” Now I knew why she cared so much about how I appeared. For the pictures that would show her son-in-law’s humiliation, she required me to look great.
Kathleen fastened my veil in place. It was the same length as my grandstep step mother’s veil, which was fingertip-long. “You look so beautiful, Celeste.” Nathaniel is going to die when he sees you.
“I really hope so,” I whispered.
The photographer got there around 11:30 to shoot pictures before the ceremony. I smiled and posed for him, thinking he was taking pictures of a happy bride, but they were really pictures of a woman getting ready for war. My dad got there at 11:45.
“My, beautiful girl.” Dad appeared in the doorway of the bridal parlor, looking great in his formal black tuxedo and nicely groomed silver hair. Pastor William Darin was still a good-looking man at 58. He was tall, dignified, and had the kind of genuine warmth that had made him liked by our church for decades. He was also a man whose life was about to fall apart.
He said, “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” and his eyes got watery. “I can hardly believe my daughter is getting married.”
The bridesmaids and photographer politely stood aside to let us have some space. I grasped my father’s hands—these strong, compassionate hands that had blessed many couples, supported me when I scratched my knees as a youngster, taught me how to drive, pray, and believe in goodness. “Dad, I need to tell you something before we walk down the aisle.”
“Of sure, sweetie. What is it?»
I took my stepmother’s journal out of my wedding luggage and gave it to him. “I found this in Mom’s car yesterday.” He seemed bewildered when he opened it, but his face changed as he started to read. His cheeks lost their color, his lips parted a little, and his hands started to shake.
“Celeste,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “This can’t be.” Your stepmother would never…
“Read the dates, Dad.” “Read it all.” He sat down in a chair with the journal in his hands and read page after page of his wife’s betrayal.
My wedding garment pooled around us like spilled cream as I knelt next to him. “How long have you known?”» he eventually asked.
“Since yesterday. Sorry, Dad. “I’m so sorry.” He glanced up at me, and I could see something break behind his eyes. This man had built his whole ministry on the importance of family and marriage.
“What should we do?”He said, “
“We’re going to walk down that aisle,” I stated with confidence. “We’re going to show everyone who Diana Darin and Nathaniel Reid really are.”
“Celeste, no.” Give this some thought. The shame, the disgrace…
“Don’t carry the shame, Dad. “It’s theirs.” He looked at me for a long time, and I could tell he was struggling with thirty years of training that suggested family problems should be kept hidden and dealt with behind closed doors.
“There are 200 people out there,” he said.
“Two hundred people who love us and need to know the truth before they see what they think is a holy ceremony.” Your name…
“My reputation will be that I won’t let anyone make a fool of me.” That I picked dignity above silence.
Someone knocked on the door and disturbed us. “Everyone, five minutes,” the wedding planner said.
Dad slowly rose up, his legs shaky. For a second, I thought he might fall over right there. But he straightened his shoulders and looked at me with pride.
He added softly, “You’re braver than I ever was.”
“I learned from the best.” He held out his arm, and we went together to the doors of the sanctuary.
I could see that the church was full of friends, family, and guests who had come from all over the country to rejoice with us through the glass panels. Just like my stepmother planned, the altar was decked with white roses and peonies. The string quartet was playing Pachelbel’s Canon, which filled the holy space with a beautiful tune.
Nathaniel stood at the altar in his nicely fitted tuxedo, looking like a successful lawyer and loyal husband. His best man and groomsmen stood next to him, all of them smiling in excitement. My stepmother sat in the front row, looking beautiful in her emerald dress and wiping her eyes with a lace handkerchief. She looked how every stepmother of the bride should look: proud, classy, and so happy for her daughter that she couldn’t help but cry.
The wedding planner opened the doors, and the music for the processional started. My bridesmaids strolled down the aisle in their soft pink dresses, beaming at the guests and standing at the altar. Then the music turned into the bridal march, and everyone in the cathedral stood up.
“Are you ready?””Whispered Dad.”
I gave his arm a squeeze. “Ready.”
We walked inside the sanctuary, and I could feel 200 eyes on us. Flashes went off on cameras. People smiled and talked about how pretty I looked. Nathaniel’s face brightened up as he spotted me. His blue eyes were warm and full of what looked like real love. My stepmother clasped her handkerchief to her tears, showing how much she cared for me.
As we walked down the aisle, I thought, “What great actors they are.” Instead of being in my life, they should have been on Broadway.
When we got to the altar, Dad put my hand in Nathaniel’s and then sat down. This was supposed to show that one man was giving his daughter to another. It seemed more like I was being given to my adversary.
“Dearly beloved,” Pastor Jenkins said, and his voice was easy to hear through the cathedral’s sound system. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of Nathaniel William Reid and Celeste Marianne Darin in holy matrimony.” I let him talk, going along with the conventional procedure, and waited for my turn.
Nathaniel held my hand tightly, and I held it tightly back. My stepmother sat in the front row and watched with delight. They had no idea what was going to happen.
“Marriage is not to be entered into lightly,” Pastor Jenkins said. “It should be done with respect, thoughtfulness, and in line with the reasons God made it.” How right, I thought. Let’s talk about God and respect.
“Anyone who has a good reason why these two shouldn’t get married should speak now or forever hold their peace.” That was it. The moment I had been waiting for. The time when I could have spoken, could have revealed all right then and there.
I didn’t say anything, though. I let Pastor Jenkins continue through the vows, the ring exchange, all of it. I wanted them to feel safe. I wanted them to think they’d won.
«Nathaniel,» Pastor Jenkins continued, «do you accept Celeste to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or worse, for better or worse, abandoning all others till death do you part?»
Nathaniel looked me in the eye and spoke clearly and strongly. “I do,” giving up everyone else. The untruth was so obvious that it almost made me chuckle.
“Celeste, do you promise to love and care for Nathaniel, through sickness and health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?”This was my time. The time to say “I do” and help me lie, or the time to burn their world down with the truth.
I looked out at the people in the church, and all of their faces were full of hope and happiness. My father was sitting in the front row, and his gaze told me to be strong. I looked at my stepmother, who was still rubbing at her eyes with fake tears.
“Actually,” I began, as my voice came through the cathedral sound system loud and clear. “I have something to say first.”
The cathedral was completely quiet. The string quartet even stopped playing. Nathaniel’s grip on my hand become tighter, and his smile faded a little.
“Celeste?”Pastor Jenkins looked like he didn’t understand. “Is everything okay?»
I turned to the crowd and remarked, “Everything is perfect.” Two hundred faces looked back at me, and instead of celebrating, they looked confused. “I just realized that I should probably be completely honest before I make the biggest promise of my life.” About everything.
Nathaniel’s hold on my hand was getting stronger and stronger. “What are you doing, Celeste?”»
I drew my hand away and moved a little bit away from him, closer to the microphone. In the front row, my stepmother had stopped moving and forgotten about her handkerchief in her lap.
“I want to thank everyone for coming today,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “It means the world to me that you would take time out of your lives to see what you thought would be the start of my happily ever after.” Murmurs began to spread through the crowd. I could see Priya in the rear, with her camera hidden.
“But I’ve learned that happy endings are based on the truth, not on pretty lies. And before this ceremony goes on, you all need to know something.
“Celeste,” Nathaniel said, reaching for me, but I moved away. “Yesterday, I found out that my stepmother and my fiancé have been having an affair.”
The words hit the church like a bomb. The stone walls rang with gasps. Someone let go of their program. I saw Judge Reid’s face lose color as he looked at his kid from the front row.
“I found my stepmother’s journal about their relationship,” I said, my voice getting louder with each word. “Three months of secret meetings, lies, and backstabbing.” For three months, they laughed at how easy it was for them to trick me.
My stepmother suddenly stood up, her face red. “Celeste, stop this nonsense!”»
“Sit down, Diana.” My father, who had also gotten up, said this in a stern voice. His speech had the weight of thirty years of preaching behind it, and my stepmother fell back into her pew as if she had been hit.
Nathaniel was desperately attempting to fix things. “Please, everyone, there has been some kind of misunderstanding.”
“Did you really spend the night at my parents’ house?”I asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. “While my dad was at his meeting, were you arranging your bachelor party?The cathedral was filled with surprised whispers and gasps. Nathaniel’s face turned white.
“Is it a mistake that you’ve been using our joint credit card to buy expensive wine for my stepmother?” Wine that she wrote about in her journal entries about your affair as something she loved?Judge Reid was now standing and starring at his son in shock and anger.
“Please tell me this isn’t true, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel glanced around the cathedral in a panic, watching his reputation, job, and whole life falling apart right in front of him. “I can explain,” I said.
“Oh, please do explain,” I responded in a voice that sounded fake pleasant. Tell your father, your coworkers, and everyone else who thought you were a man of honor how you seduced your fiancée’s stepmother. Tell me how you were going to marry me while still seeing her.
It was so quiet that it hurt. Everyone in the cathedral was looking at Nathaniel, waiting for him to explain, but he had nothing to say. No seamless arguments from the lawyer. No pleasant distractions. The truth, finally shown in all its brutality.
My stepmother was crying in the front row. Not the soft tears of a proud stepmother, but the loud, ugly sobbing of a woman whose life had just fallen apart. “Celeste,” she said with a shaky voice. “Please, you don’t get it.”
I turned to her and said, “I understand perfectly.” “I get that you thought your daughter’s happiness was an acceptable price to pay for feeling wanted again. I get that you looked at my fiancé and thought you deserved him more than I did.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“You never meant to get caught.” The truth hung in the air like smoke. My stepmother slumped back into her seat. Her emerald dress looked gaudy and desperate instead of exquisite.
I gazed out at the people in the church again. They were relatives, friends, coworkers, and individuals who had seen me grow up. Their features exhibited amazement, sadness, and fury, but none of them looked at me with pity. That was a big deal. I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.
“I want you all to know that this isn’t about getting back at anyone,” I said. “This is about the truth. This is about not building a life on someone else’s lies. And this is about putting myself first over others who put each other first over me.
As I walked down the aisle, my cathedral train flowed behind me like a queen’s robe. I halted in front of my dad as I walked by the first row. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Dad. But I’m glad you learned it.
He nodded, tears flowing down his face, but he was quite proud. “Sweetheart, I love you.” You made the proper choice.
I kissed his forehead and tasted salt and sadness before moving on down the aisle. Things were going crazy behind me. Nathaniel’s angry father was attempting to understand what he was saying while visitors stood about and talked and pointed. My stepmother was crying into her hands, and Mrs. Chin from the floral committee was looking at her with open hatred.
I didn’t glance back, though. I stepped through the cathedral doors with my head held high. My wedding dress flowed behind me like a river of ivory silk.
The parking area behind St. Michael’s Cathedral was my safe place. I stood next to my car, inhaling in the cool October air. I felt lighter than I have in months. The massive oak doors let in the sounds of turmoil from inside the cathedral: people crying, shouted voices, and the scratching of chairs as people stood up and went around to try to make sense of what they had just seen.
My phone was already vibrating with calls and texts, but I only answered one of them. Priya.
“Oh my God, Celeste. Holy crap. Did you really just…
Did you get everything?»
“Every second. My editor is going to go crazy when he sees this video. By tonight, this will be everywhere.”
“Good.”
“Are you all right? I mean, really okay?»
I thought about the question while I stood in an empty parking lot in my wedding dress, having just ruined two lives and maybe even my own reputation. “I am perfect,” I declared and meant it.
In less than an hour, the tale was spreading like wildfire among our friends. It was on local news websites within three hours. #WeddingRevenge was trending on social media within six hours as people shared Priya’s video and spoke about every part of my fight in the cathedral.
The responses were everything I had hoped for and more. Judge Reid’s legal business sent out a statement saying that his son was taking an indefinite leave of absence to deal with “personal matters.” In other words, Nathaniel’s career was ended. There are no law firms in D.C. wouldn’t touch him after this.
Victoria Reid, Nathaniel’s stepmother, sent me a handwritten letter that came by courier that same evening. Dear Celeste, I can’t even begin to say how horrified I am by my son’s behavior or how much I admire your bravery today. You deserved so much more than this treachery. Please know that I will always respect and support you. With the deepest sorrow, Victoria.
The people at St. Michael’s came together to support my father in a way that made me cry. More than a hundred people had called or come by by Sunday night to show their support and anger at what had happened to our family.
But the best response came from the women in my stepmother’s social circle, the ones she had been trying to impress for years with her perfect marriage and flawless daughter. Within a day, three different charity boards had quietly requested her to leave her post. People stopped asking her to lunch. The phone didn’t ring anymore. People were talking about Diana Darin behind her back and staring at her in shock wherever she went. She had built her identity on being the model pastor’s wife.
She tried to call me a lot of times. I sent all of my calls to voicemail.
Three days after my non-wedding, I sat in my father’s study and watched him pack boxes with thirty years’ worth of sermon notes and theological literature.
I told him for the tenth time, “You don’t have to quit.”
“Yes, I do.” His voice was tired but firm. “I can’t talk about how important marriage is when my own wife made fun of it. The churchgoers deserve better.
In the last seventy-two hours, Dad had aged years. His shoulders were more hunched over, and the creases around his eyes were deeper. But there was also something calm about him, like a man who had been carrying a heavy load without knowing it until it was suddenly taken off.
“What are you going to do?”»
“I’ve been offered a job at a small church in Vermont.” They are looking for a permanent pastor, thus they have an interim pastor. It will give me time to think about what to do next.
“And Mom?»
His face became rigid. “Your stepmother has made her choices.” She can deal with what happens.
I could see Diana putting bags into her car through the window. She was moving in with her sister in Baltimore, the only family member who would still talk to her.
“Have you talked to her at all?»
“Once. To tell her I was getting a divorce. The phrase hung in the air between us. Separation. That word was inconceivable in our family. My parents had been married for 31 years and had constructed their whole lives around the belief that they would be together till death.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t be.” “You saved me from living a lie.” He carefully and slowly sealed up another box. “I would have died without ever knowing who I was really married to.”
Someone knocked on the front door, which broke off our conversation. While I packed his books, Dad went to answer it. I could hear quiet voices in the corridor and then footsteps coming closer to the study.
“Celeste,” Dad said as he came into the room with Judge Reid behind him. Harrison Reid looked as old as my dad. His typically neat look was messy, and his eyes were empty from being tired and ashamed.
“Judge Reid,” I said, standing up and straightening my jeans. “I’m shocked to see you.”
“I had to say sorry,” he replied simply. “For my son.” Because of what he did to you. Because of what he did to both of our families.
I looked closely at his face for evidence of blame or anger, but all I saw was real regret. “Thanks.” But you don’t have to be responsible for what Nathaniel does.
“Am I not?”His laugh was harsh. “I taught him that he could have anything he wanted and that his good looks and charm would get him out of any trouble. I made the man who let you down.
“No,” I answered firmly. “You raised a boy. He decided to be a guy without honor. That’s his fault.
Judge Reid nodded slowly. «Victoria and I are going to get help. Trying to figure out where we went wrong and how we let him down so badly.
“Don’t let his mistakes define your marriage,” I told her. “Some people are just broken inside.” It doesn’t mean that everyone who loved them is broken as well.
He looked at me for a long time. “You know what? You’re amazing.” What happened to you would have killed most individuals. You’re giving advice to a dumb old man instead.
I said, “I learned from the best,” and looked at my dad.
We continued packing in peace after Judge Reid left. As the sun sank and painted his study in shades of gold and amber, he shut the last box and gazed about the space that had been his safe haven for more than ten years.
“Do you have any regrets?”I asked. “About the divorce? About going away?»
“No,” he said, then stopped. “How about having a daughter who is brave enough to choose the truth over comfort? Not ever.
I stood in the gardens outside my new apartment in Alexandria, Virginia, six months later, watching spring break free from winter’s grip. There were cherry blossoms all over the place, like pink confetti, and the air smelled like fresh grass and new opportunities. My phone rang. It was Dad’s weekly check-in call.
“How is Vermont?”I asked without any introduction.
“Pretty. Calm. The people who come here are real, even though the church is small. No politics, no drama, just religion and being with others. Are you okay?»
“I’m getting there.” What about you? How is your new job?»
Three months ago, I was offered a job as a senior editor at a well-known publishing business in New York. The pay was good, the job was hard, and most of all, it was 300 miles away from the devastation of my old existence.
“I really like it,” I said. “The city, the job, and the fact that no one knows who you are.” I can stroll down the street and not be “that woman from the wedding video.”
“Good. You deserve a new beginning.
The wedding video had lost its viral status and been replaced by new scandals and turmoil. But for a few weeks, I was the internet’s darling. I was the woman who chose truth over comfort and dignity over silence. The attention had been too much, but in the end, it gave them strength. I got thousands of messages from women telling me their own stories of betrayal and thanking me for teaching them that they could chose themselves.
“Have you heard from her?””Did Dad ask again this week?”
“No,” I said. And I hadn’t. Diana had tried to get in touch with me through other people, such my aunt, old family acquaintances, and even my old boss. But I had made it obvious that I didn’t want to talk to her. Some betrayals were too deep to be forgiven, at least not the kind of cheap forgiveness that acted like nothing had happened. I might be able to talk to my stepmother someday, but not today. Not yet.
“What about Nathaniel?”»
“His lawyer got in touch with mine last month. He says he’s in treatment and wants to “make amends.” I smiled, but I wasn’t angry anymore. “I told my lawyer to tell him that the best thing he could do to make things right would be to leave me alone for good.”
I sat in my backyard with a cup of coffee and my latest manuscript after the call. It was a memoir by a woman who had rebuilt her life after finding out that her husband had been cheating on her for twenty years. I could see how similar my journey was to theirs, but I had learned to find strength in other people’s survival stories instead of anguish in their betrayals.
The doorbell rang and stopped me from reading. I didn’t expect anyone to be there, but when I answered the door, I saw a deliveryman with a huge bouquet of wildflowers. These were the kinds of flowers I wanted for my bridal bouquet instead of my stepmother’s pick of roses and peonies. The card was simple: “For choosing yourself.” From someone who knows.
There was no signature or return address, but I didn’t need one. In the last several months, I had talked to dozens of women who had the strength to leave bad relationships, tell the truth to those in power, and put their own happiness ahead of other people’s comfort. We were a group of women who had been through a lot and cared for each other.
I put the wildflowers in a vase and put them on my kitchen table. Their natural beauty made the whole area look better. Then I went back to my garden, my manuscript, and the life I was making one choice at a time.
A year later, I stood at the podium in the Meridian Hotel’s large ballroom and looked out at a hundred faces: writers, publishers, and readers who had come for the National Women’s Literature Conference. “Celeste Darin, Keynote Speaker: The Power of an Authentic Voice” was written on the nameplate in front of me.
“A year ago,” I started, and my voice came through the sound system clearly, “I stood in front of 200 people at an altar and made a choice that changed everything.” “Not the choice everyone thought I would make, but the choice that honored who I really am.” I could see ladies in the audience nodding and leaning forward in their seats.
Many people used my narrative as a touchstone, not because of the drama or the revenge, but because of the underlying reality it showed. “We learn from a young age that keeping the peace is more essential than keeping our pride. That being pleasant is more important than being honest. That the truth of other people is more important than our own.
I stopped for a moment to reflect about the time that morning in the hotel room when I looked in the mirror and made the choice to change. “But here’s what I found out. When you choose honesty over comfort and yourself above others who have betrayed you, you don’t simply improve your own life. You let everyone else who is watching do the same thing.
The applause was loud and lasted a long time. After my lecture, a lot of women came up to me and told me their own stories of choosing honesty over approval and bravery over silence. I sat in my hotel room late that night with a glass of wine, reading notes from women who had seen my speech at the conference online. Their words were all different ways of saying “Thank you for showing me it was possible.” Thanks for picking the truth. Thank you for not staying quiet.
My phone buzzed when Dad sent me a text. I saw your speech online. Mom would be happy.
I looked at the message for a long time. Of course, he meant my grandstep stepmother, the woman whose veil I wore on my non-wedding day. She had taught me that strength could seem like elegance and that sometimes the best thing you could do for someone was to not let them be cruel. But I wondered if he was also talking about Diana. If my stepmother had watched her daughter talk about bravery and felt a mix of pride and sadness, she would have been living with the consequences of her actions someplace in Baltimore.
I probably won’t ever know. And that was fine with me.
New York City looked like scattered jewels on black velvet outside my hotel window. Millions of people were making decisions in that maze of lights. Some were bold, some were fearful, and some would alter everything. I quietly raised my wine glass to all of them, but especially to the ones who would choose to speak up when the world ordered them to be quiet.
It would be easier for them to tell the truth while they were lying. The people who would leave lovely prisons that seemed like happy endings. I thought, “Here’s to those who choose freedom.” Even when freedom means standing alone at an altar and telling the truth to people who would rather believe the lie.
I drank the last of my wine, shut down my laptop, and got ready for bed. I would travel back to my life in New York tomorrow. My work, my apartment, and my wildflower garden would all be there. The life I had established on my own unshakable truth, not on someone else’s. And if that wasn’t a happy ending, it was something even better: a new beginning that was all mine.
Sometimes the best way to get back at someone is to let them free instead of destroying them. Sometimes the best thing a woman can do is speak up when everyone else wants her to be quiet. And sometimes the ideal “happily ever after” isn’t the one you planned; it’s the one you make when you learn to put your own truth above everyone else’s comfort.
