I’ve known Dave for over 30 years. We grew up together, shared secrets, and laughed through awkward teenage years. So, when he told me he was getting married to Shanize, this stunning, graceful woman he met a year ago, I was thrilled for him.
Honestly, I didn’t think anyone could ever tie him down, but here we were on his wedding day.
The ceremony was perfect — almost too perfect. Shanize looked like she had stepped right out of a bridal magazine, her long white dress gliding down the aisle. I should’ve been lost in the beauty of it all, but something wasn’t right.
At first, I thought it was just nerves. Weddings are nerve-wracking, right? But as Shanize took step after step, I noticed she was walking oddly. Not gracefully — strangely. Small steps, hesitant, almost stumbling.
I leaned over to whisper to Dave’s sister, Heather.
“Do you see that?”
“See what?”
“Shanize. She’s walking weird. Like something’s wrong.”
Heather shrugged it off, but the feeling in my stomach wouldn’t leave. Her dress didn’t flow naturally. Her steps looked forced. As she got closer to the altar, the sense of dread grew.
“I swear something’s off,” I whispered.
“Janice, stop it,” Heather snapped. “Don’t make a scene.”
But I couldn’t look away.
And then someone behind me whispered:
“She’s gliding.”
A chill went down my spine.
I stood up. My feet moved before I could stop myself.
“Janice!” Heather hissed, but I ignored her.
I stepped into the aisle as the bride approached the altar. My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of her gown. The church fell silent.
I lifted the dress.
Gasps echoed around the room.
Under the flowing white gown were large, polished men’s shoes.
Suit pants.
Not a woman’s body at all.
I froze, staring upward into the face beneath the veil.
This wasn’t Shanize.
It was a man.
A man in a wig and bridal makeup, standing at the altar in her dress.
Dave’s smile collapsed as he stared at me. “Janice…? What’s going on?”
No one moved. No one breathed.
The impostor slowly lifted the veil, then pulled off the wig with a dramatic flourish. His short, dark hair sprang free.
It was Dave’s best man.
The church erupted in whispers.
Dave stumbled backward. “Where’s Shanize? WHAT IS THIS?”
The best man smirked.
“She’s gone, Dave. She left days ago. And she asked me to do this.”
Dave’s face twisted in confusion. “What are you talking about? Why—?”
The best man stepped forward, his voice cold enough to frost glass.
“She found out. About you and Vanessa.”
Time stopped.
Vanessa — the bridesmaid — stared at the floor, pale and shaking.
Dave shook his head violently. “No. No, that’s not—”
“She knew you were cheating on her,” the best man said. “And she wanted everyone else to know too.”
Gasps spread through the church. People stood up, whispering, staring.
Dave looked at me desperately.
“Janice, you know me. Please. You have to believe me.”
I felt my heart sink.
“Dave… what have you done?”
The best man’s voice cut through the chaos:
“This is your punishment. For betraying her.”
And with that, he turned and walked out of the church, leaving the groom alone at the altar — humiliated, exposed, and utterly broken.
