That was Amanda’s favorite defense—pretending to “worry about what people might think” when she was really voicing her own disapproval.
I tried to change the subject, but the tension lingered.
A few days before the wedding, I went to double-check my dress, wanting to make sure it was pressed and ready. But when I opened the garment bag, my heart dropped.
It wasn’t my dress inside.
Instead, there was a completely different one—beige, shapeless, and covered in tiny floral patterns. The tag still hung from the collar.
I stood there frozen, staring at it. Someone had replaced my wedding gown.
Panicked, I called the boutique, but they confirmed my dress hadn’t been returned. That meant whoever swapped it had done so at my house.
Only three people besides me had been inside that closet recently—Peter, my son, and Amanda.
And deep down, I already knew who it was.
I called Amanda immediately.
