The first time I noticed the old marks hidden beneath my wife’s wedding dress, every happy sound from our wedding seemed to disappear from my mind.
Then Emily whispered something that changed the entire night.
“My stepfather caused them.”
And in that moment, I realized the woman I had just married had been carrying a painful secret since she was a teenager.
We were in the honeymoon suite, surrounded by white roses, unopened champagne, and the quiet aftermath of what should have been the happiest day of our lives.
I stood behind Emily, slowly undoing the seemingly endless row of buttons on her wedding dress.
“Did the designer get paid by the button?” I joked.
