In the bridal shop fitting room, I heard my maid of honor whisper to the seamstress, “Take it in one more size. She’ll be miserable all day, and maybe he’ll finally see what I’ve been telling him.”

Four days before the wedding, Jenna called me.

I was sitting in Rosa’s bridal suite, watching Clara twirl in the tailored champagne silk gown. Rosa was down on her knees, pinning the hem with effortless, practiced precision. Clara caught my eye in the triple-mirror and winked.

My phone buzzed against the marble side table: *Jenna (MOH).*

I held up a finger to signal silence in the room, took a deep, steady breath, and swiped to answer.

"Hey, Jenna!" I sang out, infusing my voice with the bubbly, frazzled excitement of a bride four days out. "What’s up?"

"Hey, babe!" Jenna’s voice was warm, dripping with synthetic honey. "Just checking in! How are your stress levels? You looked so overwhelmed when we talked on Tuesday."

"Oh, you know how it is," I sighed dramatically. "Just so much last-minute nonsense. Seating charts, final payments... honestly, I’ve been having the craziest anxiety nightmares. I dreamt last night that my dress didn't zip up."

A split-second pause lingered on the line—just long enough for a predator to savor the scent of blood.

"Oh no, really?" Jenna purred, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Well... I mean, Em, don't panic if it’s a little snug, okay? You’ve been working so hard, and wedding stress does crazy things to your water retention. If it feels tight on Saturday, just remember to breathe through your nose. Nick loves you no matter what you look like, right?"

*Nick loves you no matter what you look like.*

The audacity of it took my breath away. She was already setting the psychological stage. She wanted me to believe that when the dress squeezed the life out of me, it was my own body that had failed, not her sabotage.

"Right," I said, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. "Nick is amazing. He’s been so supportive."

"He really is one of a kind," Jenna said softly, her voice taking on that wistful, intimate cadence she had used in her late-night messages to him. "You’re so lucky, Em. Seriously. Sometimes I look at how patient he is with you, and I just think... not every guy would stick around through all the mood swings. You make sure you appreciate him this weekend, okay?"

Clara, listening on speakerphone, made a violent gagging gesture with two fingers down her throat. Rosa didn't even look up from her hem, but her pins clicked together with sharp disapproval.

"I will," I said pleasantly. "Hey, can you come over to my place tomorrow morning around ten? I have a surprise for you. A little thank-you gift for everything you’ve done for the wedding."

"A gift?" Jenna laughed, delighted. "Aw, Em, you didn't have to! Being your maid of honor is gift enough."

"No, I insist," I said, my voice as smooth as polished ice. "I really want to show you how much your support has meant to me over these past eight months. Ten o'clock sharp?"

"I’ll be there with iced lattes!" she promised.

"Can't wait," I whispered, and ended the call.

In the bridal shop, the silence was absolute.

Rosa stood up slowly, smoothing down her apron. She looked at me in the mirror, her dark eyes fierce and unrelenting.