When my best friend, Mia, announced her engagement, I was ecstatic. We’d been close since childhood, weathering heartbreaks and triumphs together. Helping with her wedding was a joy. I spent months calming her fears about budgets, hosting her bridal shower after her sister backed out, and covering $600 for her florist when funds ran low. “You’re my hero, Lauren,” she’d say. Mia knew I’d been with my fiancé, James, for three years and toasted our engagement. When she offered a plus-one despite her “tight” guest list, I was eager to share her day with James.
The wedding morning glowed. James looked sleek in his black suit, and I wore the sapphire dress Mia had picked. “Ready to party?” he teased as we drove to the coastal venue. I laughed, envisioning a night of celebration. The stunning manor, with ocean views, buzzed with guests. But at the entrance, Mia’s brother, Sam, stopped us. His grin was cold, rooted in an old slight. “James can’t enter,” he said. I froze. “I have a plus-one.” He smirked. “Only married couples. Mia’s rule.” I protested, “We’re engaged,” flashing my ring. Sam scoffed. “Not married. Check with Mia.”
Guests gawked, and shame burned my face. James squeezed my hand, his eyes hurt but kind. “I’ll go,” he said. “Enjoy it.” I shook my head. “This isn’t right.” I called Mia, but she didn’t pick up, though she was always on her phone. Sam’s smugness confirmed her intent. Furious, I told James to wait and stormed in. The venue shimmered with orchids and candles, details I’d helped craft. I aimed for the bridal suite, but the ceremony started, and I was swept to the cliffside lawn. Chairs faced a floral canopy, but many sat empty, breaking the rows.
I texted James: “Ceremony’s on. Something’s wrong.” He replied, “I’m here.” Mia walked down the aisle, gorgeous but tense, eyeing the thin crowd. The ceremony felt stiff, the cheers sparse. At the reception, half-filled tables and unused place cards stood out. Murmurs spread: “They banned my girlfriend of seven years!” “My fiancé had to leave!” Mia had excluded all unmarried plus-ones, not just James. Why offer them? She dodged me, slipping away when I got close. Staff whispered about guests trashing the venue online.
After dinner, I caught Mia outside during photos. “Why do this?” I asked. She snapped, “It’s my day! I wanted real couples. Everyone’s blowing it out of proportion!” I was floored. “James and I are engaged. I helped make this happen.” She cried, “You’re not married! I needed a rule to keep random dates out of my photos!” I said, “Don’t invite plus-ones then!” She stumbled. “I thought I had to.” Her calling me selfish broke me. Done, I walked away. James picked me up with burgers. “Home?” he asked. I nodded, grateful.
The next day, I told James everything and decided to let Mia go. She texted and called, but I stayed silent. Six months later, James and I had a small wedding, welcoming all partners, married or not, with true friends by our side.