The Night Before Our Wedding, I Replaced Myself With My Best Friend Chapter 01

The Night Before Our Wedding, I Replaced Myself With My Best Friend Chapter 01

Five years with Nathan Cole had felt like watching the world in grayscale.

He was rigid to a fault, loathing any communication that wasn’t plain text.

I’d send a cute sticker, he’d say he didn’t understand it.

If I dropped a reaction meme, he’d call it pointless.

The night before our wedding, I sent him the finalized vows document.

He replied with a bouncing bunny GIF.

The text over it read: [Kiss kiss, bunny.]

Molly Sharpe, my so-called best friend, had a childhood nickname: Bunny. She’d designed that exact GIF herself, years ago.

So somewhere out of my sight, someone had already gotten him to loosen up. Made him playful.

I stared at the hopping rabbit on my screen and dialed the wedding planner.

If he prefers to be interested with someone else, then someone else could marry him.

***

“Ms. Hart, you want us to swap the bride on the poster?”

The wedding planner’s voice rose in disbelief. Three days out, and the bride herself was asking for a replacement.

I stared at the bouncing bunny GIF, swallowed the bitterness, and said, “Yes. I’ll send you the photo.”

I hung up. Nathan’s profile picture flashed again.

He’d recalled the GIF and sent a plain text message instead:

[Read the vows. Well written.]

I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone.

Nathan’s notebook lay open on the table, filled with wedding logistics in his neat handwriting—everything from the 5:00 a.m. makeup call to guests’ dietary restrictions, page after page.

I flipped through them slowly, a storm brewing inside me.

Five years together. Nathan didn’t smoke or drink. He cooked breakfast, drove me to work, picked me up. Everyone said I’d struck gold with him.

But what they didn’t see was the flip side: he never said sweet things.

I’d complained more than once that being with him felt like attending a lecture, not dating.

Molly told me that was good, men like that didn’t cheat.

Now I saw she’d been right. Nathan was good. Good enough to break his own rules for her. Good enough to learn cartoon GIFs.

I flipped further and hit a dog-eared page.

[24th, period. Remind Molly: no cold food, no seafood. Daytime pads, cotton-soft, Always Infinity best.]

Next to it was a clumsy hand-drawn smiley face.

I stared at that line for a long time, the truth sinking in: Nathan knew how to buy pads.

Last winter, the power went out at midnight.

My period came early. I was cold, cramping, curled up on the sofa. I tugged his sleeve and asked him to get me some pads.

He stood there, looking uncomfortable.

“Pads? I don’t know which kind to get. Can’t you just order delivery?”

Late at night, no delivery driver was available.

I wrapped myself in a coat, walked twenty minutes in the dark to the convenience store, and bought them myself.

Back then, I told myself it wasn’t his fault. He was just a clueless guy who didn’t get women’s stuff.

Now I knew the truth: he wasn’t clueless. He just didn’t care enough to learn for me.

He knew the brand. The style. Everything.

A wave of bitter absurdity washed over me. Five years. I’d been a fool.

I didn’t know when their thing started. I didn’t even know it existed.

I’d shared every joy and ache of this relationship with Molly, thinking she was my best friend.

I took a breath, set the notebook down, grabbed my wedding dress, and drove to the bridal shop.

If the bride was changing, the dress had no reason to stay either.

The receptionist greeted me with a warm smile. “Ms. Hart, you’re so lucky! Your fiancé even handpicked the bridesmaid dresses himself.”

I froze.

And there, in the fitting room mirror, was Molly. She was wearing an elaborate white bridesmaid gown—sparkling crystals, intricate embroidery. My favorite brand.

The day I’d picked my own dress, Nathan had called this brand overpriced and impractical. He’d talked me into a plain single-layer gown for five hundred fifty dollars.

Molly’s bridesmaid dress? That same brand’s showcase piece. Eighteen hundred dollars.

Nathan spotted me in the mirror, flinched, and spun around. “Elena?”

The softness in his eyes hadn’t faded, lingering awkwardly on his startled face.

Molly caught my reflection. Her smile flickered, then she rushed over in her gown, grabbing my arm.

“Elena! What are you doing here?” She linked her arm through mine, her voice bright.

“I was trying it out for you! Nathan said you love this brand, so he brought me along to see if it’s comfy, he wanted to surprise you.”

I looked at her unflinching expression and let out a hollow laugh. “And? How’s the test?”

Nathan jumped in. “Just like I said—overpriced, cheap fabric. Fine as a bridesmaid dress, I guess.”

Molly nodded along. “Yeah, Elena. The one Nathan picked for you is way better.”

The two of them chimed in together, praising that simple five-hundred-fifty-dollar dress as if it were haute couture.

I watched them, and suddenly it all made sense. They deserved each other, same hypocrisy, same arrogance.

They finally ran out of flattery and looked at me, waiting for me to nod.

Instead, I said slowly, “If it’s uncomfortable, then I don’t want it.”

Uncomfortable clothes go. And so do uncomfortable people.