Everything was perfect at my best friend Aisha’s wedding—until I noticed the groom, Jason, nervously rubbing his wrist.
A name peeked out from under his cuff: Cleo. Not Aisha. I recognized it immediately—someone from his past, someone Aisha had once cried over.
I stood up. “Stop the ceremony.” Gasps filled the room. Jason claimed it was just henna. But then Cleo stood from the crowd,
revealed a matching tattoo, and exposed the truth: a recent affair and Jason’s confession that he didn’t love Aisha—he just wanted her family’s wealth.
Aisha didn’t cry. She calmly removed her veil and said, “Thank you. Now I know the truth.” And just like that, she ended it.
The day turned from a wedding into a celebration of self-respect. We toasted, danced, and honored the strength of a woman who chose herself.
