As I stumbled away from the wreckage, my heart pounded with a ferocity I’d never known before. The pristine white of my gown was splattered with the sugary debris of a cake meant to symbolize the sweet beginnings of a new life. Instead, it had become the catalyst for my escape from a nightmare I hadn’t known I was living.
Sarah’s grip on my wrist was ironclad, pulling me through the crowd of bewildered guests. Their faces blurred past in a swirl of confusion and whispers, some gasping, others snapping photos with their phones, capturing the chaos that had erupted at what should have been a picture-perfect wedding.
We burst through the kitchen doors, the smell of fresh herbs and roasting meats mingling with the sugary sweetness clinging to my dress. The kitchen staff, dressed in crisp white uniforms, stopped in their tracks, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity. But Sarah didn’t stop. She yanked open a back door, and we stumbled into the cool night air.
