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Only she remembered what happened on her wedding... or at least, that's what she hoped. But let's be real, everyone remembered. How could they forget such a disaster? People love a good scandal; they spread it around like cheap candy. And hers? It had enough sugar and poison. It all went down on August 16th, a Saturday. The air was thick and hot, sticking her dress to her skin. You'd expect things to just melt quietly, not explode in public. But somehow, everything went wrong. The dress? Ripped before she even made it to the altar. The cake? Gone missing before the party even kicked off. Imagine! And then... then came the part she tried to block out, though it haunted her every day. It wasn't just a bad wedding. It was a full-on train wreck, with her name plastered on the side, and she was waving like some crazy queen. Her groom, Daniel—yeah, let's call him out—looked like he was trying to escape. She should've seen it in the way he kept messing with his tie, his eyes everywhere but on her. But no, she thought he was just nervous, like in the movies. Turns out, he was planning something wild. Then, when the priest asked the big question—“Do you take this woman”—guess what Daniel did? He laughed. Not a little chuckle. A real laugh. A sharp, nasty laugh that bounced around the church. People thought he was nervous at first, some even giggled. But he didn't stop. He was shaking, head thrown back, laughing like someone had just told the meanest joke ever, and she was the punchline. And she—bless her heart—stood there smiling. Smiling! Because that's what brides do, right? They smile, their face frozen, mascara burning, while their life crashed in front of everyone. Of course everyone remembered. Her uncle Tony caught the whole thing on his iPad. People still share it in family chats, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. 'Just remembering that day, lol', someone would write. And she'd have to mute the chat for a week because the sound of his laughter still got to her. The priest, thrown off by Daniel's laugh, tried to move on, but Daniel looked her right in the eye and said: I can't do this. Just like that. Four words, louder than any promise could ever be. She remembers dropping her flowers. The thud was loud, like they knew they'd been ditched. Someone gasped. Someone else muttered the word, "shame". And her mom just hung her head in utter embarrassment. The party never happened. The guests left with doggy bags and gossip. She stayed behind in her dress, mascara running, thinking, Well, at least it's memorable. And it was. Now she tells the story herself when she feels like defusing it. Because if she tells it, she's in charge. That's what she tells herself, anyway. But really, she knows the truth. She’s the only one who remembers how his laughter shook her chest. Only she remembers how her knees almost gave way, but pride kept her up. And only she remembers the weirdest thing: a tiny bit of relief. Yeah, relief. Because even back then, even in the middle of that mess, part of her knew she didn't really want him. Didn't want the marriage. Didn't want to fake it. She wanted the idea, not the guy. And Daniel—dumb, scared Daniel—did something she couldn't: he blew it all up. so that saved her — even though in the most cruelest and embarrassing way— from a fake marriage… a forced relationship. So maybe everyone remembered the scandal, the scene. But only she remembered the relief. But to be honest, as they were pretending to date, she kind of started to like him. He was cute, after all. Who wouldn’t like him? Even that relief hurt. So, she did the whole pity party thing. Cried, listened to sad songs, like she was trying out for a sad movie. She even searched “how to get over wedding humiliation” as if the internet had a quick fix. Nope! The blogs all said, love yourself and know your worth. Easy for them to say, when their worth wasn't laughed out of a church. But here's the thing about hitting rock bottom: you can't fall any further. And she learned she wasn’t broken. She was still breathing, still here. So weeks later, she got practical. Sold the dress online. The buyer wanted it for Halloween. "Zombie bride", they said, and she laughed harder than she'd laughed in ages. 'How ironic', she thought. She packed it up, sent it off, and with it went a load of sadness. Then came the hair. She chopped it off, just like that. People gasped because people freak out when women change without asking. But she didn't care. Her head felt light, like she'd cut away all the laughter that was hiding in her hair. Work became her thing. Not amazing work, just steady. Paycheck in, bills out. But she was proud of it. Each little win told her: you're more than just a joke in a church. And friends—real friends are gold. Not the ones who shared the video, not the ones who said you'll find someone else like marriage was the only thing that mattered. Nah, the real ones. The ones who showed up with food and jokes. The ones who said she could just be herself, not half of a "we". The biggest change came when she was at a coffee shop, writing in a notebook—therapy homework, nothing special—and a stranger approached her and asked, "Are you a writer?" She almost said 'no'. But something inside her said, "Yes, I am." Just like that, she wasn't the bride who got dumped. She was a woman who wrote, who made something herself, who had something to say other than 'remember my disaster?' The whispers didn't stop of course. People still knew the story, because people love a good mess. But she stopped caring. She even told the story at a party once, making it funny. They laughed with her, not at her. And that made all the difference. She got herself back, little by little. Not with big announcements, but with small acts: selling the dress, cutting her hair, being her own person—writer, friend, whole. She still didn't know the reason stupid Daniel had decided to call off the wedding in such an ugly manner and to be frank, she didn't care anymore. So yeah, they remembered the scandal, the laughter, the ruined day. But she remembered something else. She remembered she survived. She knew she rebuilt. She reminded herself that she wasn't just the girl at the altar, embarrassed in front of everyone. She was the woman who got back up. And that memory, that truth, was hers.

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Shards of August 

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So, I wrote this story with almost no dialogue. This is the first story that I've written, so please don't forget to leave a review and vote. 🥲🙏

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Shards of August

Chrisa5

Christabel Davidson

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Shards of August

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