Two days before my wedding to Henry, I sat staring at my reflection, feeling like a stranger in my lace gown. The venue was stunning—roses everywhere, a harpist ready to play—and Henry was the man my family dreamed I’d marry: stable, charming, with a ring that screamed success. But my heart belonged to Ethan, the carefree guy with a rusty van and a smile that lit up my world. We met on a beach after college, when I stumbled into him while he towed a kayak. We fell, laughing, into the surf, and that’s how our love began.
For three summers, we shared a tiny apartment, grilling burgers at midnight and swaying to old songs. Then Ethan went swimming with friends. A strong current took him. His friends survived; he didn’t. Searchers found only a piece of his board. I mourned, lost, until time dulled the pain. I met Henry, who promised security, and my parents pushed me toward him. But as the wedding neared, I felt trapped, going through the motions of planning with a hollow heart.
The day before the rehearsal, Henry left for a suit fitting, and I was sipping cold coffee when the doorbell rang. I opened it, and my cup crashed—Ethan stood there, older, with a weathered face but familiar eyes. “You’re marrying him?” he asked, voice raw. “You’re dead,” I whispered, stepping outside. He said a current knocked him out, and fishermen saved him, but he lost his memory. He lived on a remote coast until a wedding photo of me brought it all back. “Do you still love me?” he asked. I was speechless, hurt and hopeful.
He urged me to meet him that night by the beach cliffs, promising to vanish if I didn’t show. That evening, Henry saw Ethan on our camera. “You’re mine,” he said sharply. I ran to the cliffs, but Ethan wasn’t there. I waited, heartbroken, until morning. At the wedding, I walked toward Henry, numb, when Ethan called my name from the crowd. “You didn’t come,” I said. “Henry had me jailed,” he revealed. Henry admitted it, demanding we finish the vows. I refused, saying, “I never consented.”
Though I loved Ethan, I told him, “I can’t trust you’ll stay.” But when Henry grabbed me, I broke free. “I’m not yours,” I said. I took Ethan’s hand, leaving the altar and Henry behind. Walking away, I chose honesty over a scripted future, ready to rebuild my life on my own terms.