I Will

When I pictured my wedding day, I saw myself cloaked in white and crowned with jewels. I’d wear the pale blue drop earrings my mother gave to me on my sixteenth birthday, borrow my sister’s make-up, and buy some white Vans that I’d embellish with lace. The picture was perfect. But you know a picture can never always be quite perfect.

Nobody believed me when I insisted I had only been drinking sparkling water that evening. I wouldn’t have believed me. But I had nothing to blame except my own stupidity. I kept twirling it around on my finger, captivated by the moon’s charm against the diamonds. Should I? Shouldn’t I? What if? What if not? Slipping it on and off, on and off, until one wrong slip, and down the rabbit’s hole it fell, caught by a new bud forming on a skinny branch, just off the blossom tree next to the balcony. He had saved all his money to buy that, he wasn’t exactly flush. I had to get it back. It wasn’t too far out of reach. It turns out it was. And the fall was far.

Now, as I see myself cloaked in white and crowned in jewels, twirling a different ring around my finger, I can barely stand to look at my reflection.


           Right before her big day.

           Everyone’s plans got changed.

           I didn’t recognise her.

           Poor thing.

           Poor fiancé.

A cautious knock jolts me, and I catch my reflection head-on. How am I going to walk down the aisle? How will I smile in the photographs? How will I face everyone? Knock. Knock. Be grateful you’re alive, I hear that voice remind me again.

‘Who is it?’ my voice barely makes it out.

‘It’s me.’

I scurry to the door with a swish of satin and lace. ‘You can’t see me, it’s bad luck.’

‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing.’ He pauses. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine. I’m fine.’


I press my forehead against the door. ‘I don’t look like a bride.’

‘What is a bride supposed to look like?’


‘Mads, to me, you are the most beautiful. I’ve always thought so. You are perfect to me, even if you lost the most expensive thing I ever bought anyone, and,’ he opens the door, ‘you are a perfect bride.’

I blink back tears, touching the face I have still to get acquainted with.

He touches the other side. ‘Will you marry me still?’

I nod, smiling. ‘I will.’

Writer. Faith walker. Notebook collector. Coffee drinker. Coffee Drinker. Coffee Drinker. Mother of two...and counting... @BathSpaUni MA CW grad.

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