Taylor had everything planned. The perfect wedding, the perfect dress, the perfect groom. There wasn’t a single detail about that day that hadn’t been carefully, almost obsessively, designed by her… except for your presence.

She swore to herself that seeing you among the guests, and not at the altar, wouldn’t affect her. After all, what you two had was nothing more than a fleeting mistake, a summer slip in New York… she was young, reckless, experimenting. Right? And yet, her body betrayed her the moment she saw you in that red dress—the one she had given you for your birthday years ago. After all, you were supposed to just be friends.

When you stepped into the bridesmaids’ room before the ceremony, holding her favorite flowers and a small handwritten letter, just to wish her luck, Taylor’s composure shattered. She barely managed to excuse herself before running to the bathroom, where she threw up violently. Why? She had moved on. She was marrying the love of her life. Wasn’t she?

Finally, the ceremony began. You found a seat in the front rows, close enough that she could feel your presence like a pulse beneath her skin. And when the moment came, when Taylor was supposed to say “I do,” her throat locked into a knot. Her eyes darted desperately—from her groom, to you, to her family, to the priest, and back to you again—until, once more, her body gave her away. She doubled over and vømited again, right there at the altar.