The fact that my daughter’s wedding dress was black wasn’t even the worst part.
As soon as Chloé got engaged, we began organizing the ensemble. A dream of a unique gown made only for her had existed since she was a young child. Naturally, my best friend and most talented seamstress, Laura, came to mind.
She put her all into it for months. Everything, including the fabric choice, lace details, and cut, was nearly perfect. A few days before the wedding, I was given a preview of the almost finished dress. “This is it,” I believed. This is my daughter’s dream.
The wedding day then arrived.
Laura came in with a large white box. When I opened it, my heart skipped a beat.
The dress was black.
Me: “Laura, what the fuck is this?”
After placing her palm on mine and giving me a composed look, she said:
“Trust me.”
Then, quietly, she added:
“You should sit down now.”
I went cold. My brain screamed: Joke? Some kind of setup?
Then the music started.
And as soon as Chloé walked in…
It was quiet in the room.
At the same time, everything made perfect sense.
My daughter’s black attire was only symbolic. The real heartbreak was more complicated.
Chloé wasn’t wearing the ivory dress that we had spent weeks making as she walked down the aisle. No. I was deeply moved by the meaning of her ink-black gown.
I can still remember the call. She was ecstatic.
— “Mom, he proposed!”
I wasn’t surprised. Thomas has been her friend for six years. They looked very near to me.
From that moment on, we focused on the wedding. The clothing is the first step, of course.
Chloé wanted something that reflected who she was.
Just wait; our fairy godmother seamstress Laura promised it would be royal.
Months of work, fittings, and changes resulted in a masterpiece with cream satin, exquisite lace, and perfect draping.
I thought so.
The day of the wedding
I saw that Thomas wasn’t acting like himself. Usually serene, kind, even reticent, he suddenly looked anxious and distant.
— “What is wrong?I asked.
He shrugged and mustered a smile.
“Probably just nerves,” he said.
I did my best to console myself. After all, weddings are emotional roller coasters.
But there was something about which I felt uneasy.
The morning of
In the house, there was a humming. Cosmetics, laughter, and champagne bubbles…
Laura then arrived with the delivery. White. huge.
“Now is the moment,” she smiled.
I couldn’t wait. I lifted the lid.
And everything in my world crumbled.
The dress was black. deep black. Unexpected. Incomprehensible.
My voice trailed off:
— “Laura, is this wrong?”
She simply took my hand.
“You’ll receive it shortly.”
I looked up at Chloé, tears in my eyes.
“Tell me about this.”
She whispered:
“I have to do this, Mom.”
In the course of the ceremony
It was a stunning place. The guests whispered excitedly:
“She will look gorgeous.”
“I heard Thomas cry during the rehearsal.”
I sat down with a disturbed heart.
The music changed.
Chloé entered. dressed in black.
The room was filled with a flutter of astonished murmurs.
— “Is that her real dress?”
I looked at Thomas. He stopped. pale.
Then I understood.
A recollection surfaced.
Years ago, Chloé and I watched a movie about a woman in a black dress who was tricked by her fiancé and went to the altar. Not to say, “I do,” but to bury an illusion.
I thought she had forgotten.
Still, she hadn’t.
That day, she was acting out the action as well.
Uncomfortably, Thomas tried to laugh:
– “Are you serious?”
Chloé answered tallly and calmly:
“We can begin now.”
The officiant started reluctantly. No one, though, was listening.
Thomas took hold of her hands:
— “You are my love, my soulmate, and the one I have been waiting for all my life, Chloé.”
She interrupted him.
She went on to say, “This dress represents the end.” The end of what I had hoped for and believed in. Because true love never turns on its victims. With the wedding so close, no.
The visitors started whispering to each other.
Was he cheating on her?
Thomas lost his words.
“No, Chloé.”
– “I loved you.” I believed in you. Then I found out.
“It’s not what you think,”
— “The messages. The calls. Three days before the day you say “I do.”
I took her hand, shaken:
– “What prevented you from informing me?”
— “Because I knew how other people were responding.” That I should forgive. because it was irrelevant.
She gave a soft sigh.
“But I deserve better.”
I gave her a firm hug. Just like she was at eight years old. She barely flinched.
— “You have strength. I hold you in great regard.
