Summer, a nervous fiancée, prepares for her wedding to Matt. But as the wedding gets closer, she notices a change in Matt’s behavior — once an open book, now a secretive man. Suspicious, Summer believes that Matt is seeing someone else. And her suspicions are true. Except the woman isn’t who Summer thinks she is at all.
In the weeks leading up to my wedding, my life felt like it was hanging by a thread—one that was fraying with every secretive glance and muffled conversation my fiancé, Matt, thought he was hiding from me.
The signs were subtle at first—I know, they always are, but Matt had been an open book before that. This new version of him left me impossibly alone.
Suddenly, his phone was locked with a password and would always be attached to him. He also had a sudden need for privacy—wanting to take his calls outside, away from me.
But nothing hit harder than the day I smelled a different perfume on him. It was clear as anything that the scent just wasn’t mine. Where mine was herbal and earthy, whereas this new scent was sweet and floral.
I remember the morning that I sat outside, trying to figure out the way forward.
I was torn between wanting to finalize my wedding veil and wanting to confront Matt about whatever was going on behind the scenes.
I phoned my sister, Annie, because I wanted some clarity.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Should I confront him?”
“Yeah!” my sister exclaimed enthusiastically. “You’re going to marry this guy, sis. You need to know what’s going on before the wedding. Better a canceled wedding than a divorce.”
I knew that my sister meant it in the best way. She wanted to open my eyes to the possibility that something extreme might be going on.
“So, talk to him,” she said. “And do it soon!”
I couldn’t imagine canceling my wedding. But if Matt was seeing someone else—then I didn’t have any intention of being with him. I would not allow that.
I confronted Matt over dinner that evening. My voice was steady, but my heart thundered against my ribcage. I was worried that I was making things up in my mind. But the thought of there being some truth in Matt’s actions terrified me.
“I’m not going to play these games, Matt,” I said, sitting at the table.
His reaction was immediate, his eyes widening, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow as if the mere accusation was enough to shatter him.
“Summer,” he stammered. “There’s no other woman, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I swear. This is just a private project at work—it’s all based on confidentiality at the moment. I’ve got to focus on it, but nothing can be leaked. Okay?”
Matt’s hands reached out to me as if to physically pull the trust back between us.
In that moment, despite the whirlwind of doubts, I saw the fear and honesty in my fiancé’s eyes.
I chose to believe him.
The weekend before our wedding, Matt and I planned a dinner with our closest family and friends. We just wanted an intimate dinner before our big day—which we knew would be chaotic, following the schedule that our wedding planner had so meticulously drawn up.
Matt and I set up our garden with fairy lights, and the drinks flowed steadily.
“Thank goodness you’re getting married, Matt,” Lucas, Matt’s best friend, said. “Now you’re someone else’s problem.”
The guys sniggered and continued to pick at their plates.
Matt, on the other hand, didn’t even pay attention to them. He was focused on his phone, his fingers texting furiously.
“Matt!” my sister called out, trying to get his attention.
“What?” he asked, looking up to find everyone staring at him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just final wedding details.”
He refused to meet my eye.
I didn’t know what to make of it. As I gathered the dirty dishes and stacked them in the kitchen ready to wash—I couldn’t understand why Matt was being so shifty again.
Since the confrontation, he seemed much better. Or he hid his actions better.
Our wedding day arrived, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon—just as I had dreamed.
The church was adorned with flowers that Grace, our wedding planner, moved heaven and earth for. And the air was filled with the soft murmur of our loved ones.
As Matt and I stood at the altar, hand in hand, ready to pledge our lives to each other, I felt foolish for doubting him.
I knew this man cared for me. There was no way that he would have been cheating on me.
Matt gave me a lopsided grin, as if he read my mind. He squeezed my hand.
And then a sound shattered the moment—the church door creaking open, an intrusion that stopped the instrumentals being played.
Matt, turning toward the commotion, gasped loudly.
I didn’t need to turn to know—I felt his shame like a palpable wave, crashing into me and leaving me winded. But I turned anyway, to see an older woman making her way down the aisle.
Lisa, Matt’s mother, the woman who raised him, dropped her handbag, her hand clutching her heart as if to steady herself.
“You?” she gasped, her voice carrying through the church.
Matt had been the anchor between two different worlds—one that he was born into and the other, that he was lovingly brought into.
It turned out that the woman who had begrudgingly crashed our wedding was Matt’s birth mother. Adopted by his aunt after being abandoned by his biological mother, his life was a tapestry of love stitched with secrets.
Matt and I had been together for six years, and this topic had never come up. As far as I knew, his parents were Lisa and George—the two people that he had introduced as family to me since the beginning.
This was a secret that should have come out a long time ago. Even if Matt had only confessed it after he proposed, when he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, that would have been perfectly acceptable to me.
Instead, there was nothing.
Matt had kept it hidden from me.
So, at our wedding, Matt’s biological mother, Charmaine, Lisa’s younger sister, was revealed to us all.
Matt let go of my hand and took a step toward Charmaine. I could see that a part of Matt was overjoyed, yet another part of him seemed to be embarrassed. The moment hung suspended, a breath before the storm, as his mom approached her sister.
All of our guests held their breath, expecting anger, reproach, perhaps even rejection. But what followed was a moment so tender, it felt as though the very foundations of the church sighed in relief.
Lisa, Matt’s mom, the woman who had raised him with all the love a heart could hold, stepped forward and enveloped her sister in an embrace that spoke of forgiveness, of lost years, and of love that endures despite everything.
Our vows, when they finally came, were not just promises to each other but to our families—entwined by history and healed by love.
The rest of the evening unfolded with Matt being stuck to my side. He didn’t try to explain anything to me. But he seemed a lot more relaxed than he had been for weeks.
During our first dance, he promised to tell me everything on our honeymoon.
“I’m sorry, Summer,” he said. “But there’s a reason for it all. I promise.”
Later, I came to understand that Matt and his mom, Lisa had promised to keep it between themselves
“Summer,” Lisa said when we went out for lunch a few days after Matt and I had returned from our honeymoon.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Lisa said. “I know that we should have told you the truth earlier. And I have been telling Matt to tell you everything.”
“Why didn’t he?” I asked. “Is it a trust issue?”
Our honeymoon had been incredible, but Matt and I had danced around the topic—eventually postponing it for a conversation for when we got home.
Which hadn’t happened yet.
“No,” Lisa reassured me, sipping her drink.
“It’s the fact that this has been a secret in our family for a long time. My sister was only eighteen when she had Matt, and she was young and carefree. She loved her baby, of course. But she wasn’t ready to be a mother.”
Lisa looked at the ground for a moment.
“After George and I adopted the baby, we wanted nothing more than to keep my sister in the picture,” she said.
“As the cooler, younger aunt?” I asked, smiling.
“Yes, exactly,” she chuckled. “But after a few months, Charmaine packed up and left. And years had passed by without us speaking. Because we just couldn’t find her. Then, she would phone us randomly and check in. Before disappearing again.”
After a while, Lisa and I went to get ice cream and walked home. I finally felt more secure in my position in Matt’s life. Through our conversation, I felt like I was a part of the family because I understood the situation and why Matt was hesitant to tell me.
At the end of the day, although he was at the heart of it—he felt that the truth was Lisa’s to tell, not his.
“At least you know,” Matt said when we had a glass of wine together that evening.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “I just didn’t know how to tell you because it’s a big deal for my Mom.”
Matt continued to tell me how he reached out to Charmaine on social media.
“I just wanted to know if she would be interested in attending the wedding. As an aunt,” he added. “I didn’t want her to come here, as a mother. No, that’s reserved for my mom.”
Eventually, Matt told me how he had tried to talk to her—always in secret because if he told me who he was speaking to, then he would have had to tell me everything.
Now, we’ve invited Charmaine for dinner next week. Matt is incredibly nervous, unsure of what to expect.
I just hope that she allows him in.
What would you do?
