Shortened Version:
Everything seemed perfect at my best friend Aisha’s wedding until I noticed the groom, Jason, wincing and rubbing his wrist—just like someone with a fresh tattoo. As Aisha reached the altar, his sleeve slipped, revealing a red, irritated patch and new ink reading “Cleo”—not Aisha. Cleo, the one Aisha had excluded from her bridesmaid list, sat nearby in a red dress.
I couldn’t stay quiet. I halted the ceremony, lifted Jason’s sleeve, and exposed the tattoo. The guests gasped as Cleo showed a matching one reading “Jason.” Later, she revealed Jason had spent the night with her, insulted Aisha as “sweet but boring,” and admitted he was only after her money.
Aisha’s face went cold. She dropped her ring at his feet and declared there would be no wedding—but the reception would become her “freedom party.” Later, as we sipped champagne, she thanked me: “You saved me.” I told her she deserved better than a man who’d mark himself with another woman’s name the day before their wedding.
By night’s end, Jason was gone, Cleo had stormed out, and Aisha was dancing barefoot—laughing. The wedding was canceled, but the celebration? Unforgettable.