The months leading up to our wedding flew by in a whirlwind of planning.
Ed and I decided on 120 guests. We found this perfect reception hall with tall windows and crystal chandeliers. I spent weeks choosing white roses, fairy lights, and golden accents for the decorations.
Everything had to be just right.
On the big day, I felt like I was floating.
I didn’t realize this was the last perfect moment of my wedding day.
My mom sat in the front row, tears streaming down her face as I walked down the aisle. Meanwhile, Ryan looked so handsome in his charcoal gray suit, beaming with pride as he watched me.
And Ed… God, Ed was grinning like he was the luckiest man alive.
The ceremony was everything I’d dreamed of. We said our vows under an arch of white roses while sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows.
When the pastor said, “You may kiss the bride,” Ed lifted my veil so gently and kissed me like we were the only two people in the world.
Everything felt perfect.
Then came the time to cut the cake.
I’d been looking forward to this moment for weeks. I’d seen it in movies, magazines, and on Pinterest.
I imagined Ed and me standing together, our hands joined on the knife handle, cutting that first perfect slice. Maybe he’d feed me a small bite, and I’d laugh and wipe a crumb from his lip.
