When I first bought the dress well, obviously i was in love with it. it was pure white, and it had tiny embroidery roses stitched across the bodice… It was long and had such elegance and flow to it that was almost unearthly… I remember the dress consultant buttoning up the back, and before I even turned around to see myself in the mirror…
It was perfect.
I turned slowly, and I gasped. I had never felt more beautiful in my life, than I had at that moment. The dress looked stunning, I couldn’t bear to blink because I was afraid it would vanish off my body. The dress consultant had even stopped to gawk in awe at me.
But something was wrong.
Something in my heart told me that the reason I was buying this dress was not the destiny of the dress— that my simple, 50 guest wedding was not meant to be its grand debut— that sitting in a trunk, only to be discovered by my children or my grandchildren as they explored the attic, was not meant to be it’s final resting place. The warmth I had felt was soon replaced with the cold, chilling realization that this was not the life I was supposed to have. I realized in that moment that I had made a mistake— a terrible mistake, that has caused me to end up with this dress at the right time, but in the wrong place.
I was not who I thought I was.