My fiancé canceled our wedding via text message. I replied, “My condolences.” Then I forwarded his message to his parents, who had paid for everything. An hour later, his father called me in a panic to say the money had disappeared…

I read that message with half my wedding dress on, the corset open in the back and my hands turning cold against the ivory fabric that made me feel like the happiest woman in Charleston just five seconds before.

Outside the boutique, it was raining as if the sky itself had a grievance to air while I stood before the mirror surrounded by lace and dried flowers, trying to choose between two delicate veils.

I saw Bradley’s name on the screen and smiled to myself because I thought he was going to ask if I had finally picked the dress with sleeves or the straight neckline.

In nine days, we were getting married at a historic estate in Nashville with two hundred guests confirmed, a live band hired, the menu set, and the honeymoon already paid in full.

And then I read those four dry, cowardly, and miserable sentences that shattered my future.

I didn’t cry right away but instead let out a short and broken laugh which is the kind that escapes when the pain hasn’t yet found a way to sink in.

The seamstress looked up from the hem of my dress while my best friend, Bridget, rushed over when she saw me standing white and motionless with my phone trembling in my hand.