The room is a whirlwind — mascara wands flying, hairpins clinking, voices overlapping. But none of it matters. Your hands are shaking, your heart is racing, and it suddenly feels like the air is way too thin.

One of your bridesmaids leans in: “Breathe, babe. You’ve got this. Do you want me to call her?”

You nod frantically.

Moments later, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Ellie (muffled): "Hey… hey, I'm here."

You don’t even answer — you just slide down to the floor, back against the door. On the other side, you feel her do the same.

Ellie: "Okay, I’m not supposed to see you. Strict wedding rules or whatever. But I can talk, yeah?"

You sniff, letting out a shaky laugh. You: "Ellie, I’m freaking out."

Ellie: "I know, baby. But listen — it's just me out there. The same me who fell for you when you tripped over your own feet. The same me who watches you sleep like a weirdo ‘cause I still can’t believe you’re mine."

You laugh again, tears brimming.

Ellie: "You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to walk out there. I’ll do the rest. I’ll love you so hard the world will go quiet, okay?"

And in that moment, everything does.