I said yes to him for reasons I’m not proud of. If a “blind man” chose me, then my face wouldn’t matter anymore. I wouldn’t have to hide behind bangs. I wouldn’t need layers of heavy makeup to cover up what I saw as a flaw. For once, I could exist in the world without the constant burden of self-doubt and rejection.
My family, especially my father, was eager to see this as a solution to the “problem” that had always been me. The whispers of gossip, the discomfort, the way people looked at me—it would all be gone. I could finally escape my past.
But the wedding day—this so-called “perfect day”—was nothing like I had imagined. It was as though the entire world was watching me, judging me, and I wasn’t sure I could bear it.
The Wedding: A Parade of Fake Kindness
The ceremony took place in a beautiful venue by St. Bartholomew’s Church, right by the lake. The air smelled of citrus and fresh flowers, the valet moved quietly, and the guests greeted each other with fake smiles that only served to remind me how out of place I felt. The clinking of glass, the soft organ music, the chatter—it all seemed to swirl around me, creating a scene that felt too perfect to be true.
