I never thought I'd be one of those brides who got all weepy over a dress. But there I was, standing in front of the mirror at Bella's Bridal, my hands clasped over my mouth, trying not to smudge my mascara as tears welled up in my eyes.

"Oh, honey," my mom said, squeezing my shoulder. "You look absolutely beautiful."

I smoothed my hands over the intricately beaded lace bodice, marveling at how it hugged my curves just right before flowing into a dreamy tulle skirt. It was perfect, exactly what I'd always imagined I'd wear when I married Adam.

"This is it," I breathed, twirling around to face my mom. "This is the one."

Fast forward to a week later, and I was still on cloud nine. I'd hung the dress in the guest room closet, safely zipped up in its garment bag, but I couldn't resist peeking at it every chance I got.

"You're obsessed," Adam teased one night as I came back from yet another visit to my dress.

I flopped onto the couch next to him, grinning. "Can you blame me? In three weeks, I get to wear that dress and marry you. I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

Adam pulled me close, planting a kiss on my forehead. "I'm the lucky one," he murmured.

If only I'd known then how quickly my world was about to come crashing down.

It happened on a Tuesday morning. I remember because I had the day off work, and I was planning to finalize some wedding details. I practically skipped to the guest room, ready for my daily dose of wedding dress joy.

But when I opened the closet door, my heart stopped.

At first, I couldn't process what I was seeing. The garment bag was unzipped, and there was my dress, but it looked... wrong.

As I reached out with trembling hands to touch the fabric, I saw the huge, ugly burn marks scarring the delicate lace and beading.

My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, a strangled sob escaping my throat. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare. I fumbled for my phone, dialing my mom's number through a haze of tears.

"Mom," I choked out when she answered. "The dress... it's ruined."

"What? Jenna, slow down. What happened?"

I tried to explain between sobs, but nothing made sense. How could this have happened? The dress had been fine yesterday.

"I'm coming over," Mom said firmly. "Just sit tight, honey. We'll figure this out."

I hung up and immediately called Adam. He answered on the second ring, his voice cheerful. "Hey, babe! What's up?"

"Adam," I said, my voice breaking. "Something terrible has happened."

As I explained about the dress, his shock was apparent even through the phone.

"That's impossible," he said. "How could that happen? Are you sure it wasn't some kind of accident? Maybe there's an issue with the house wiring or something?"

His suggestion sounded ridiculous, but I was too distraught to argue. "I don't know," I said miserably. "Can you come home?"

"I've got a big meeting I can't reschedule," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "But I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? Try not to worry. We'll sort this out."

As I hung up, a nagging feeling settled in my gut. Something about this whole situation felt... off. And I was determined to find out what it was.

My mom arrived within the hour, and together we examined the dress, trying to make sense of the damage.

"It looks like it was done with an iron," she said, her brow furrowed. "But who would do such a thing?"

I shook my head, feeling sick. "I don't know. The only people who've been here recently are you and Jason."

Jason was Adam's best friend. He'd stopped by a few days ago to drop off some wedding planning stuff. But surely he wouldn't…

"Let's check the security cameras," Mom suggested. "Maybe they caught something."

I'd forgotten about the cameras Adam had installed a few months back. With shaking hands, I pulled up the app on my phone and started scrolling through the footage.

And then I saw it.

My heart stopped as I watched Adam — my Adam — walk into the guest room with an iron in his hand. He looked calm, almost methodical as he unzipped the garment bag and pressed the hot iron against my dress.

"Oh my God," I whispered, dropping the phone. Mom picked it up, her face paling as she watched.

"Jenna," she said softly. "I'm so sorry. What… why would he do this?"

But I didn't have an answer to that question. The rest of the day passed in a blur. I canceled my appointments, ignoring the concerned messages from friends and family. I couldn't bear to explain what had happened—I could barely understand it myself.

When Adam finally came home, I was waiting for him in the living room.