The Night Before
The night before the wedding, our house was alive with laughter and last-minute details. My parents were running around managing deliveries and food. My brother Jake and his girlfriend were arranging flowers. Mark was there too, breaking the old tradition of not seeing the bride before the big day. We didn’t care—we’d been through worse together.
And then there was my twin sister, Stacey.
We’re fraternal twins, and to be honest, we couldn’t look more different. She’s tall with dark, dramatic features. I’m blonde, rounder, softer in appearance. She always joked about being ten minutes older—used to say, “I should be the one getting married first, not you.”
But that evening, she seemed supportive. She even helped me hang my dress carefully on the living room ceiling fan, so it wouldn’t wrinkle.
“You’re going to look amazing tomorrow,” she said, smoothing out the fabric. “Mark’s lucky.”
“Thanks, Stace,” I said, hugging her. “I love you.”
“Love you too, little sister.”
I went to bed with a smile that night—grateful, hopeful, surrounded by family, my dress hanging in plain view.
Everything felt right.
Until it didn’t.
The Morning of the Wedding
I woke up before the sun, too excited to stay asleep. I tiptoed downstairs, eager for one last peek at my gown.
But it was gone.
The hanger swayed empty from the ceiling fan. My stomach dropped.
“MOM!” I shouted, panic rising in my throat. “My dress—it’s missing!”
She came flying down the stairs, still in her curlers, her face turning pale when she saw the bare hanger.
“Maybe someone moved it?” she offered, clinging to hope.
We tore through the house. Closets, bedrooms, laundry baskets—even the backyard. Everyone was searching.
Everyone… except Stacey.
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