A Week Before the Wedding, I Found Out the Truth
We were finally just one week away from the wedding I had waited two long years for. No more delays, no more excuses. Everything was finally set.
But that night, I found Wade in the garage—crying like I’d never seen before—his arms wrapped around a small red jacket I didn’t recognize.
“It’s his,” he whispered.
And just like that… everything changed.
I’m not ungrateful, I swear. Wade’s proposal had been one of the happiest moments of my life.
It was a cold October morning when he got down on one knee. His hands were shaking like bare tree branches in the wind. His eyes were filled with hope and nerves.
He opened the little velvet box, and the ring inside sparkled like a promise.
“Forever, Em,” he said, voice cracking. “I want forever with you.”
And without even blinking, I said yes.
But now… now I lie awake at night wondering if he ever really meant it.
Two whole years passed since that day. Two years filled with excitement and heartbreak. We’d made plans and watched them fall apart. Dates were set, then scratched out again.
Every time we got close, Wade had another reason.
“Money’s tight, babe,” he’d say, kissing my forehead.
Or, “It might rain—can’t risk the whole thing getting ruined.”
Then came Aunt Ruth’s broken hip, Grandma’s dizzy spells, the flu, the farm being understaffed. One day he even said, “It’s not the perfect date.”
Excuses. Like dry leaves in a storm, they just kept falling.
But this time? This week? It was supposed to be real.
The church was booked. The invitations sent. Even Wade’s tough-as-nails father, Dale, had sat him down and said, “Son, you’ve been stallin’ long enough. Don’t let that girl slip away.”
And I believed him. I believed Wade was finally ready.
That morning, he flipped pancakes, humming quietly, and kissed my cheek.
“Almost there, Em,” he whispered with a smile.
But all day, something was off. He moved like a shadow. He barely spoke. I caught him staring out the window, jaw clenched so tight I thought he might crack his teeth.
That night, I was asleep—until something woke me.
It wasn’t loud. Just a sound. Like someone struggling to breathe through tears.
I pulled on Wade’s old flannel shirt—it still smelled like cedar and soap—and walked barefoot down the hall.
A line of light glowed beneath the garage door. My heart pounded.
I pressed my hand to the knob. Then I heard it—crying.
Not sniffles. Not quiet sobs. The kind of crying that comes from the soul. The kind that rips you open.
I pushed the door open slowly.
Wade was on the floor, curled up like a child. He clutched something tight. His shoulders shook hard.
“Wade?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. He just kept rocking.
I stepped closer.
That’s when I saw it—a tiny red jacket. It was clearly for a child. Old. Faded. The cuffs were chewed and frayed.
“What is that?” I asked gently.
He looked up at me, tears streaming down his face. His eyes were red, wet, broken.
“It’s his,” he said.
“Whose?” I breathed.
He swallowed. “My little brother’s. It’s Adam’s.”
We sat on the cold floor of the garage. I didn’t care how cold it was—I wasn’t moving.
Wade held the jacket like it was the last piece of someone he loved.
Minutes passed in silence.
Then, in a rough voice, he said, “He was seven.”
I turned. “Who?”
“Adam. My little brother.”
My heart stopped. “You never told me you had a brother.”
He stared at the floor. “That’s because… I didn’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
Wade let out a bitter, painful laugh.
“In our family, it was like he disappeared. After the accident, no one spoke his name again.”
He looked far away, like he wasn’t even in the garage anymore.
“We were playing by the river. Just the two of us. Skipping rocks. Daring each other. I told him to cross the old log bridge. I told him it’d be fine.”
He swallowed, his voice cracking.
“I was supposed to hold his hand. But I let go.”
He closed his eyes, and whispered it again: “I let go.”
I didn’t know what to say. My heart ached for him.
“I thought I buried it,” Wade said. “All of it. But today, I was in Dad’s workshop, going through some boxes. I wasn’t looking for anything. And then I saw it. The jacket.”
He lifted it gently. “I don’t know how it ended up there. But the second I saw it…”
He stopped. His fingers brushed the worn fabric like it was made of glass.
“We made a promise,” he whispered. “We said we’d be best men at each other’s weddings.”
Then he looked at me. His eyes—so full of guilt—searched mine.
“That’s why I kept postponing. Getting married felt like… leaving him behind.”
I took his hand.
“Come to bed,” I whispered. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
The next morning, Wade sat at the kitchen table, stirring his coffee but never drinking it.
The silence was heavy.
Then he said it.
“I think we should move the wedding.”
My fork slipped. “Again?” I said. I didn’t mean to sound angry, but I couldn’t help it.
“I just… I need more time,” he whispered. “The dreams—they’re back.”
I could see how broken he was. I wanted to scream, but instead, I walked over and kissed his forehead.
“I understand,” I said.
But something inside me cracked.
That afternoon, I drove out to Wade’s parents’ house. I thought maybe if I told them what was going on, they could help him.
Bonnie opened the door, smiling like always.
“We’re postponing the wedding,” I told her gently. “Wade’s not ready. His brother, Adam—the memories—”
She blinked. “His what?”
“Adam,” I said. “His little brother.”
Her smile vanished.
“Emily… Wade never had a brother.”
I raced home.
My hands gripped the wheel so tight they turned white. My heart pounded. I couldn’t think straight.
No brother?
No Adam?
Then what was that story? What was real?
I walked into the house, quiet as a ghost.
Wade was on the couch, staring at the TV. It wasn’t even on. Just a screensaver floating around.
“No brother?” I asked quietly.
He turned slowly. Fear filled his eyes.
“Emily—”
“It was all a lie?” I whispered. “The jacket? The sobbing? That whole story?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“I panicked,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to lie. I just… I couldn’t handle the pressure. Everyone asking. You believing in me. I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t ready.”
“You had two years, Wade,” I said, voice trembling. “I gave you everything. And you gave me a lie.”
He covered his face. “I’m sorry. Let’s get married. I’m ready now. I promise.”
I just nodded. Quietly.
But I knew what was coming.
The church was full of flowers and old wood. The sunlight through the stained glass painted colors on the floor.
Wade stood at the altar in his best suit. Hands clasped. Eyes scanning the aisle.
The music never started.
Whispers filled the room.
Then I walked in—not in white—but in my favorite blue dress.
Gasps echoed.
Wade looked at me, hopeful.
But I didn’t smile.
I stopped in front of him.
“There won’t be a wedding today,” I said.
His face fell apart.
“I needed to believe you wanted this as much as I did,” I said. “But all you’ve shown me is doubt.”
“I won’t marry someone who’s not sure I’m their forever.”
He reached for me. “Emily, please—”
I stepped back.
“I gave you years. I gave you grace. Now I give you goodbye.”
Then I turned and walked down the aisle. The double doors opened.
The sunlight hit my face.
And with each step, the sound of my heels echoed louder and louder.
Like freedom.