You know that feeling when everything’s falling into place? That’s how I felt the week before my wedding.
I’m Emily, 27, marrying the love of my life, ready to close the chapter on my twenties. After a year of spreadsheets—guest lists, seating plans, vendor timelines—I thought I had it all. The dress hunt had me trying 50 gowns across three states, until I found “the one” in a downtown boutique. My mom cried, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
The night before, our house buzzed: my parents prepping, my brother and his girlfriend arranging flowers, my fiancé Mark around despite the superstition, and my twin Stacey—older by ten minutes—helping me hang the dress. “You’re going to look amazing,” she said. I fell asleep smiling.
Morning came early and with dread—I tiptoed to see the dress, and it was gone. We searched everywhere. Stacey was missing, supposedly at a friend’s. I borrowed an off-white prom dress and wore it to the church.
As I stood at the back, the doors opened—and in walked Stacey in my wedding dress. She claimed it was her turn: “I was supposed to be the first one to get married… everyone’s favorite twin.” She accused me of stealing her spotlight.
Mom stood up: “This is Emily’s day… stealing someone’s joy is never the answer.” Tears flowed. Stacey’s bravado crumbled. She sat at the back as I walked down the aisle with Mom. The ceremony blurred—my vows, the applause—but my heart ached.
Stacey skipped the reception. Later, she returned, tearful and remorseful, confessing she’d been struggling with depression and job loss—living in isolation while I moved on. She’d taken the dress to feel special, to feel human again.
We sat with her. Mom promised help. The next week, Stacey started seeing a therapist, and I realized this wasn’t just jealousy—it was pain.