Hannah thought her wedding day would be the happiest moment of her life. But when her fiancé’s mysterious “family tradition” was finally unveiled at the altar, everything changed. Stunned and betrayed, she was suddenly faced with a decision no bride should ever have to make.
Luke had proposed in February beneath twinkling fairy lights as snow drifted around us like falling confetti. I said “yes” instantly—after three years together, I was certain there were no secrets left between us.
But I was wrong.
We threw ourselves into planning a June wedding. I excitedly chose flowers and sampled cakes, but Luke kept brushing me off when it came to certain details.
Whenever I asked about the invitations or how the venue would be set up, he’d just smile and reassure me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Less stress for you—and besides, there’s a special wedding tradition in my family…”
“Really?” I interrupted. “What kind of tradition? And why does it affect the venue?”
“I… can’t really explain it,” he said with an awkward grin. “You’ll see on the day. It’s something meaningful I want to honor.”
I should’ve asked more questions. But I trusted him.
The morning of the wedding, I woke up in my childhood bedroom, nerves fluttering beneath my skin. My mom was fussing with my veil for the tenth time.
“You look beautiful, honey,” she said, already misty-eyed. “Luke’s going to be blown away.”
I stared at my reflection, smoothing down the beading on my dress, my heart beating fast with anticipation.
When the vintage car Luke had arranged pulled up, I kissed my mom goodbye.
“See you at the altar,” I told her.
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
But as the car approached the church, a strange feeling crept in.
There weren’t many cars in the parking lot. Luke’s cousin, acting as usher, helped me out.
“You ready?” he asked—his voice noticeably shaky.
“Definitely.”
The chapel doors opened. I took a step down the aisle—and froze.
Every seat was occupied by a man.
My dad stood near the front, looking uneasy. My uncles sat on one side, stiff and silent. My male cousins filled the back rows. The groomsmen flanked the altar. Even the officiant was male.
But not a single woman was there.
I blinked, completely thrown off. This had to be a mistake.
I whispered to Luke, “Where’s my mom? My sister? My friends?”
He avoided my gaze. “They’re… they’re at the other location.”
“What other location? What’s happening?”
Before he could reply, his father appeared at my side. He gently but firmly guided me toward a bench.
“This is part of the tradition,” he said softly—but with unsettling calm.