My Wedding Planner Said I Canceled My Own Wedding but I Didn’t – The Truth Left Me Speechless
Chelsea is all set to marry Rasmus, the man of her dreams. But when the wedding day arrives and no guests show up, Chelsea has to figure out who canceled her wedding and whether her groom is right for her or not.
A coffee bar and bakery | Source: Pexels
I’ve always wanted that ‘Happily Ever After’ kind of romantic life. So, when I met Rasmus, I thought I had finally gotten it. But as my wedding day began to unravel, it seemed I had gotten the nightmare version instead.
Rasmus and I met at a bakery. It was a sweet little meet-cute situation — where I was convinced he was the perfect person for me. We exchanged numbers over rye bread.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Chelsea,” he said, holding onto a loaf of artisanal bread.
He called me just as he left the bakery, wanting us to have dinner that night.
Two short years later, we were waking up to our wedding day.
That morning, I showered early, eagerly awaiting my hair and makeup appointments. I remember sitting at the edge of the hotel bed, looking at my dress and holding my breath.
I couldn’t wait to marry Rasmus. I couldn’t wait to begin our lives together.
A person pouring wine at a restaurant | Source: Pexels
So, the day went on — my maid of honor, my sister Jess, was with me, and we continued to get ready.
“Where’s Mom?” Jess asked. “Shouldn’t she be getting dressed with us?”
“No, we decided it would be best for her and Dad to meet us at the venue. You know she doesn’t get along with Rasmus.”
Jess shook her head.
“You’d think that Mom would have sorted out her feelings by now.”
It was true, my parents loved me — but they just couldn’t see Rasmus and me together.
Bride getting her makeup done | Source: Unsplash
“There’s just something off about him,” my father would say. “But we respect your wishes to marry him.”
Closer to the time, Jess called for the hotel car, and we made our way to the wedding venue.
“Where is everyone?” Jess asked, echoing my thoughts.
It was an entire wedding venue with literally not a soul in sight. There was no welcome sign for the guests, no welcome drinks, no décor, no staff, and absolutely no guests.
Not even Rasmus.
“Get Brenda on the phone,” I said, talking about my wedding planner.
An empty wedding venue | Source: Pexels
I was beginning to panic. I was all dressed and ready to go. It was supposed to be my special day.
“Brenda, where is everyone?” I asked when Jess handed me the phone.
“What do you mean?” Brenda’s calm voice came through the speaker.
“I’m at my wedding venue, and there’s nobody here!” I exclaimed, the panic evident in my voice.
“Chelsea, honey,” Brenda said. “The wedding was canceled. The directive came through your email address just three days ago.”
My heart almost stopped beating.
A person using a laptop | Source: Pexels
How could I have canceled my own wedding? I went through my emails, and sure enough, there it was.
Dear Brenda,
Due to unforeseen circumstances, the wedding is off. Please notify all the guests and the vendors.
But it made no sense. It was from my corporate account — an account that my family had access to because we all worked at the family business together.
My mind raced — did Mom and Dad? Could they really…? No, they couldn’t have.
They always said that it was my life and my choices. Even if they didn’t approve of Rasmus, they wouldn’t hurt me like this.
I needed to hear it from them.
An older couple holding white ceramic mugs | Source: Pexels
But my parents were just as shocked as I was.
“We were on a flight, honey,” my father said. “I had a business meeting, and your mother tagged along with me. We had nothing to do with it. We did get the cancellation from Brenda and just wanted to give you your space.”
“I didn’t see any email,” Jess said. “But you know how bad I am at checking my mail.”
That’s when it hit me — the only other person who would have access to my email accounts, work and personal, was Rasmus.
The same man who was supposed to be waiting for me at the other end of the aisle.
I asked Jess to take me home, ready for answers. I needed to know what was happening and how it all unfolded without my knowledge.
A man with a gray t-shirt and arms crossed | Source: Unsplash
I walked into our little apartment, and there he was. Rasmus, sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal. He had no intention of leaving the house because he was in his sweatpants, wearing glasses, and his hair was wavy.
His usual armor of being well-dressed, contacts in, and hair swept into his signature hairstyle was all missing.
A bowl of cereal | Source: Pexels
“You canceled our wedding?” I asked before he could say anything.
Rasmus didn’t even try to hide it. He had canceled the wedding because, three days ago, he realized that as much as he loved me, he wasn’t ready for marriage.
So, he panicked.
“I didn’t have the courage to tell you,” he said. “I figured that you’d think the wedding was on, and then when the slip-up happened, you would want to investigate it. I thought it would take the heat off me.”
As I stood there, my wedding day in ruins around me, I realized that my parents were right. Rasmus wasn’t the person for me. And as much as it hurt, a part of me was relieved he did it.
So, here I am, looking at my wedding dress and wondering what to do with it.
A woman holding her head | Source: Unsplash
What would you have done?
I Opened My Garage to a Homeless Woman—You Won’t Believe What I Found When I Walked In Unannounced
When a rich man, who feels emotionally distant, gives shelter to Lexi, a homeless woman, he becomes intrigued by her strength. Their unexpected friendship starts to grow—until one day he walks into his garage without knocking and finds something shocking. Who is Lexi really, and what is she hiding?
I had everything money could buy: a big house, fancy cars, and more wealth than I could ever use in a lifetime. Yet, inside, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t fill.
I had never had a family since women always seemed to want me only for the money I got from my parents. At sixty-one, I often wished I had made different choices.
I tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, trying to shake off the familiar weight on my chest. That’s when I spotted a messy woman bent over a trash can.
I slowed the car, unsure why I even bothered. People like her were everywhere, right? But there was something about the way she moved, her thin arms digging through the garbage with a grim determination that tugged at something inside me.
She looked fragile but fierce, like she was holding on to life by sheer willpower.
Before I knew it, I had pulled over. The engine hummed as I rolled down the window, watching her from the safety of my car.
She looked up, startled. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might run. But she didn’t. Instead, she straightened up, brushing her hands on her faded jeans.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to me. I wasn’t the kind of person to talk to strangers or invite trouble into my life.
“You offering?” There was a sharpness in her voice, but also a tiredness, like she’d heard every empty promise before.
“I don’t know.” The words tumbled out before I could think. I stepped out of the car. “I just saw you there, and it didn’t seem right.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on mine. “What’s not right is life.” She let out a bitter laugh. “And cheating, no-good husbands in particular. But you don’t seem like someone who knows much about that.”
I winced, even though I knew she was right.
“Maybe not.” I paused, unsure how to continue. “Do you have a place to go tonight?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting away for a second before locking back onto mine. “No.”
The word hung in the air between us. That was all I needed to hear.
“Look, I have a garage. It’s more like a guest house. You could stay there until you get back on your feet.”
I expected her to laugh in my face, to tell me to go away. But instead, she blinked at me, the edges of her tough exterior starting to crack.
“I don’t take charity,” she said, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
“It’s not charity,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “It’s just a place to stay. No strings attached.”
“Okay. Just for a night,” she replied. “I’m Lexi, by the way.”
The drive back to my house was quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.
When we arrived, I led her to the garage-turned-guest-house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was enough for someone to live in.
“You can stay here,” I said, pointing to the small space. “There’s food in the fridge, too.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Over the next few days, Lexi stayed in the garage, but we saw each other for meals. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her pulled at me.
Maybe it was how she kept going despite everything life threw at her, or perhaps the loneliness in her eyes, which mirrored my own. Maybe it was just the simple fact that I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
One night, as we sat across from each other at dinner, she began to open up.
“I used to be an artist,” she said softly. “Well, I tried to be. I had a small gallery, a few shows… but it all fell apart.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Life happened. My husband left me for a younger woman he got pregnant and kicked me out. My whole life unraveled after that.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “It’s in the past.”
But I could tell it wasn’t, not really. The pain was still there, just below the surface. I knew that feeling all too well.
As the days passed, I found myself looking forward to our conversations.
Lexi had a sharp wit and a biting sense of humor that cut through the gloom of my empty house. Slowly, the hollow space inside me seemed to shrink.
It all changed one afternoon. I had been rushing around, trying to find the air pump for one of my cars. I barged into the garage without knocking, expecting to grab it quickly and leave. But what I saw stopped me cold.
There, spread across the floor, were dozens of paintings. Of me.
Or rather, grotesque versions of me. One painting showed me with chains around my neck, another with blood pouring from my eyes. In the corner, there was one of me lying in a casket.
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This was how she saw me? After everything I’d done for her?
I backed out of the room before she noticed me, my heart pounding.
That night, as we sat down for dinner, I couldn’t shake the images from my mind. Whenever I looked at Lexi, all I could see were those horrific portraits.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Lexi,” I said, my voice tight. “What are those paintings?”
Her fork clattered to the plate. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw them,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “The paintings of me. The chains, the blood, the coffin. What the hell is that?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see those,” she stammered.
“Well, I did,” I said coldly. “Is that how you see me? As some monster?”
“No, it’s not that.” She wiped her eyes, her voice shaky. “I was just… angry. I’ve lost everything, and you have so much. It wasn’t fair, and I couldn’t help it. I needed to let it out.”
“So you painted me like a villain?” I asked sharply.
She nodded, shame etched on her face. “I’m sorry.”
I sat back, letting the silence stretch between us. I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to understand. But I couldn’t.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said flatly.
Lexi’s eyes widened. “Wait, please—”
“No,” I interrupted. “It’s over. You need to leave.”
The next morning, I helped her pack her things and drove her to a nearby shelter. She didn’t say much, and neither did I. Before she stepped out of the car, I handed her a few hundred dollars.
She hesitated but then took the money with trembling hands.
Weeks passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. Not just because of the disturbing paintings, but because of what we had before. There had been warmth and connection — something I hadn’t felt in years.
Then, one day, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a painting, but this one was different. It wasn’t grotesque or twisted. It was a serene portrait of me, captured with a peace I hadn’t known I possessed.
Tucked inside the package was a note with Lexi’s name and phone number scrawled at the bottom.
My finger hovered over the call button, my heart beating faster than it had in years. Getting worked up over a phone call felt silly, but there was so much more riding on it than I wanted to admit.
I swallowed hard and hit “Call” before I could second-guess myself. It rang twice before she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was hesitant, like she sensed it could only be me.
I cleared my throat. “Lexi. It’s me. I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I figured I owed you something better than… those other paintings.”
“You didn’t owe me anything, Lexi. I wasn’t exactly fair to you, either.”
“You had every right to be upset.” Her voice was steadier now. “What I painted — those were things I needed to get out of me, but they weren’t really about you. You were just… there. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Lexi. I forgave you the moment I saw that painting.”
Her breath hitched. “You did?”
“I did,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t just the painting that had changed my mind; it was the feeling that I had let something meaningful slip away because I was too scared to face my pain. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe we could talk. Maybe over dinner? If you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d really like that.”
We made plans to meet in a few days. Lexi told me she used the money I gave her to buy new clothes and get a job. She was planning to move into an apartment when she got her first paycheck.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having dinner with Lexi again.
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