From the moment Amy asked to speak with me alone, I sensed something was off. Dressed in her wedding gown, she looked calm on the outside, but her trembling hands told a different story. “I need you to give this to Leo,” she said, handing me a sealed white envelope. “After the ceremony. Not before.”

I asked what was in it, but she didn’t answer—just turned and walked away, her dress trailing like a ghost. The ceremony went off beautifully. Leo looked overjoyed. Amy walked down the aisle composed, even radiant, though her eyes seemed far away. I tried to shake the unease, telling myself it was wedding-day nerves. At the reception, laughter and champagne flowed—but something still felt off. Amy smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Leo, too, seemed distracted.

I approached Leo and handed it over. “Another love letter?” he joked.

But as he read it, the color drained from his face. His hand trembled. He read it again, slower this time, then folded the letter and placed it back in my hand.

Without a word, he turned and walked out of the reception—and didn’t come back.

I never found out what Amy wrote in that letter. But whatever it was, it changed everything.