Before You Go

Chapter One

"You look beautiful."

I look at myself in front of the large mirror and can't help but smile. I have been preparing for this day for months and today it's about to happen. I start the day as Miss Clarke, and end it as Mrs. McConnell. 

With the engagement ring on my hand that will be paired with a wedding ring in just a couple of hours, I smooth the invisible wrinkles on my wedding dress which took me a month to decide on because I want it to be perfect. It's sexy yet decent, and hugs my body in all the right places. What I love about it is the matching lingerie I have underneath which my soon to be husband will surely love once this dress is on the floor tonight.

"The photographer is wrapping up taking photos of the venue and he'll arrive shortly." my wedding planner and best friend, Carrie, says as she types something on her phone. "I'll wait for him outside."

Carrie leaves me alone inside the room, and I twirl around in front of the mirror, unable to help myself. My stomach's full of butterflies, and I just feel ecstatic.

I've been dreaming about this day ever since Michael- my fiancé, proposed to me last year. He helped me with planning the wedding, and I couldn't have thanked him enough when he suggested we hire Carrie to be our wedding planner when he saw it was nearly impossible for the both of us who have full time jobs to also devote our time in planning the wedding.

There's a champagne flute that's half filled with champagne on the table and I take a sip of it, enough for me to calm down the excited jitters that's been flowing through my body since last night.

There's a knock on the door and I go to open it. It's Carrie, looking at me utterly horrified, and it's making me worry.

"What's wrong?" I ask when I see the ashen look on her face. "Did the photographer overbook? Are the caterers not going to be able to make it? Is the cake okay?"

Carrie says nothing but hands me a small note. It's not even folded, so I know she was able to read whatever was written on it. I take the note from her hand and she closes the door, leaving me alone yet again inside the room.

I haven't  read the note and I can hear her already making calls at the other side of the door. And it's scaring me.

I take a large breath before finding the courage to read the note that's in my hand.

I'm sorry, Valentine. I can't do it.

I think time stopped, or I stopped breathing. I'm not sure anymore when my knees give up and I'm kneeling down on the floor staring blankly at the note with my tears threatening to spill, my voice wanting to scream. But nothing goes out.

Staring at the note completely mortified, I re-read it again and again.

I'm sorry, Valentine. I can't do it.

I'm sorry, Valentine. I can't do it.

I'm sorry, Valentine. I can't do it.

No matter how many times I read the note, from different angles, from different perspectives, the words don't seem to disappear. The letters don't seem to move around to tell me something different. I turn it over in hopes that it's a sick joke, that there's something in the back to tell me my fiancé is not walking out on me on our wedding day.

It's not you. It's me.

I snort at the five words. How original.

It's quiet.

It's angry.

It's embarrassing.

It's pathetic.