**Diary Entry**
There was no wedding. The groom never arrived.
How many little girls dream from childhood of a white dress, a crown of flowers, the shiver down their spine at the words “I now pronounce you husband and wife”… Emily was one of them. She grew up quiet, modest—an imaginative and tender-hearted girl. Countless times, she’d close her eyes when wedding ceremonies played on the telly, picturing herself one day walking arm-in-arm with the love of her life—music in the air, admiring glances, her heart trembling.
She met her William at university. They both studied law, though in different tutorial groups. Tall, fair-haired, fit, with a mischievous glint in his eye. She—graceful, slender, with an elegant poise and a gentle smile. The whole department said they were made for each other. William never left her side. Walked her home, brought her coffee on frosty mornings, doodled hearts in her notebooks. Their love was like something from a novel—pure, tender, real.
A year passed, and he proposed. By graduation, their parents already knew each other, shared weekends at the countryside, became family. They planned to marry right after uni. Everything was perfect. Emily spent weeks with her mates picking a dress, flipping through catalogues, darting between bridal shops. Then one night, she dreamt of it—delicate lace, ivory silk, a trailing veil—and woke with a certainty: *That one’s mine.*
She hurried to the nearest boutique with her friends. The saleswoman, Hannah, listened to her description and suddenly grinned.
“Funny—a dress just like that was returned recently. Fancy a look?”
Emily fell in love before even trying it on. It was spun from her dream. Only when her friend whispered, “Hannah said the other bride’s wedding never happened… Maybe it’s bad luck?” did she hesitate. But Emily wouldn’t hear it. Fate was fate. The dress was packed, and she waited, breathless, for the big day.
The night before, she booked a hotel room—some quiet, some space to think. She slipped the dress on once more, twirling before the mirror. Then, for a second, she swore her reflection wore a black ribbon in her hair. A shudder ran through her, but she brushed it off as nerves.
Morning ran smooth as clockwork: makeup, hair, the dress… Emily looked straight off a magazine cover. Her parents gasped when they saw her. All that remained was waiting for William. An hour passed. Then thirty minutes more. Emily’s smile faltered. Through the window, a police car pulled up. Her chest caved. She stepped into the hallway, legs unsteady.
“Miss… Emily?” A young constable hesitated. “Your fiancé… William… he’s gone. A crash. Drunk driver veered into his lane. He didn’t make it.”
Emily didn’t cry. She froze. Then sank to the floor, hands over her face.
Three days later, she stood at the graveside in that same dress—now with a black ribbon in her hair. Clutched in her palm, a photo of them together. She laid it in the casket, bent close, kissed his cold forehead, and whispered,
“Forgive me… if I’d known, I’d never have let you go.”
After that, no one saw her smile again. She faded, moving through life like a ghost. Her parents called it depression. The doctors—adjustment disorder. But her mother knew: her daughter was slipping away.
Exactly a year later, on what should’ve been their anniversary, Emily’s heart stopped. The coroner wrote, “cardiac arrest in sleep.” In her hands, they found that wedding photo.
The love was real. Too real to survive.
Do you believe love can be so strong, life without it becomes impossible?…
