Your best friend's wedding dress was a classic crepe sleeveless scoop neck with a sweeping train. Classic elegance had always been her style. Your wedding dress, the one you had loved from the moment you saw it, the one that now hung unworn and gathering dust in your closet, was a bit more elaborate with its lace sleeves and delicate lace applique covering the princess silhouette. Your dream dress.

The groom opted for a black tuxedo. Another classic choice. Chris would have worn a navy blue suit with a silver tie if you had managed to make it down the aisle like you spent a year and a half planning for. The best laid plans, as they say.

The ceremony was as beautiful as you would expect, and the reception was a dream. You hated it. Hated all of it. Sitting at your assigned table, you nursed a flute of champagne, internally screaming over everything you should have had. The worst part was seeing Chris there, standing up with the groom as his best man during the ceremony, dancing with his date at the reception, and smiling and laughing like it didn't even matter to him at all. You were still gutted six months after the breakup and he was fine.

Or so it seemed to you. While you agonized over what should have been, you missed the pitiful little looks Chris gave you from across the reception when he knew no one was looking at him.