My name is Tessa. Just a few weeks ago, I thought my life was unfolding exactly the way I always dreamed it would. I was 35, newly engaged to a man I adored, and just days away from marrying him. For the last eight months, wedding planning had been my full-time hobby. Menus, guest lists, music playlists, fittings, seating charts—I lived and breathed every detail.

And I loved it. As a little girl, I used to twirl around in my mom’s old bridesmaid dresses, imagining this day. That dream was finally becoming real.

The Man Who Made It All Feel Easy
Jared and I met two years ago at a friend’s housewarming party. I was in the kitchen, wrestling with a stubborn wine bottle when he walked in—brown eyes, easy smile.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

“Only if you promise not to make fun of me,” I joked.

He popped the cork effortlessly, poured us both a glass, and toasted: “To the joys of being semi-functional adults.”

We hit it off instantly. One date turned into two, then weekends, holidays, inside jokes. He worked in marketing, made me laugh every day, and treated me with such kindness that I felt lucky just to be around him. When he proposed last Christmas—with a ring hidden in my dessert—I didn’t hesitate.

I said yes.