My future-wife’s bridesmaid sent me this picture of her and I cancelled the wedding.

As the wedding day drew near, a blend of excitement and nerves filled the air for a couple eagerly anticipating their future together. The joy of celebrating their love with friends and family was palpable. However, unbeknownst to them, a dark plot was unfolding, driven by jealousy and hidden emotions.

Just a week before the wedding, an unexpected twist occurred. A bridesmaid, consumed by envy, secretly sent a picture of the bride in her wedding dress to the groom. Her intent was clear: to stir doubt and invoke superstition, casting a shadow over their upcoming union. The groom, shocked and unsettled by the image, found himself grappling with an overwhelming sense of unease.

Haunted by the fear of bad luck, the groom made the difficult decision to cancel the wedding, fearing the potential consequences of ignoring the superstition that had taken hold of his mind. The bride, devastated and confused, struggled to understand why their special day had been abruptly called off.

In the months that followed, the once close-knit group of friends became distant. The couple, hurt by the betrayal and emotional turmoil, decided to postpone their wedding indefinitely. They needed time to heal and to distance themselves from the toxic influence that had disrupted their lives.

A year later, with the pain behind them, the couple emerged stronger and more committed than ever. They chose to rekindle their love, this time opting for a more intimate ceremony, free from the burdens of superstition and deceit. The person who had once sought to undermine their happiness was no longer a part of their lives, as they chose to surround themselves with those who genuinely supported their joy and future together.

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My stepmother pu:shed me into marrying a wealthy but dis:abled man. On our wedding night, when I helped him toward the bed and we fell together, I uncovered a truth that left me shaken to the core. My name is Clara Parker. I was twenty-four years old, raised under the strict authority of my stepmother, a woman who believed emotions were weaknesses and survival was everything. She repeated the same lesson throughout my childhood: “Never tie your life to a poor man. Love doesn’t put food on the table—security does.” For years, I thought she was simply practical. That illusion shattered the day she announced I would marry a dis:abled man. His name was Ethan Moore, the sole heir of one of the most powerful families connected to Ashford Estate. Five years earlier, a devastating accident had left him “paralyzed.” Since then, he had withdrawn completely from society, living behind closed gates and unanswered rumors. People whispered that he was cold, volatile, and deeply distrustful—especially of women. None of that mattered to my stepmother. What mattered were my late father’s debts. “If you marry Ethan, the house stays with us,” she said flatly. “Do it for your mother.” I agreed—not because I wanted to, but because I felt trapped. Shame settled in my chest like a stone. The wedding was extravagant, held in a grand estate filled with chandeliers and silk-draped halls. My red-and-gold gown shimmered under the lights, but inside, I felt hollow. Ethan sat in his wheelchair, expression unreadable. He never smiled. Never welcomed me. He simply watched. That night, I entered our bedroom with trembling hands. Candlelight framed his sharp features as he remained seated in his chair. “Let me help you onto the bed,” I said softly. “No,” he replied calmly. “I can manage.” But when he tried, the chair tilted danger0usly. “Wait—!” I rushed forward. We fell together, the sound echoing through the room. I landed on top of him, my face burning with embarrassment. And in that moment, I realized something impossible. …To be continued in the first comments👇👇

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