The first time someone mentioned Amber’s wedding, I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
“Wait, Amber who?” I asked, sipping my coffee, more focused on the giant slice of cheesecake in front of me than whatever my friends were talking about.
The table went dead silent. Four pairs of eyes locked on me like I’d just confessed to a crime.
“Are you serious, Ivy?” Lauren finally asked. “Amber Amber. Our Amber.”
My stomach twisted.
“No way. She would have told me,” I said, shaking my head. “You guys are just messing with me.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, nearly knocking over his coffee cup.
“Ivy, she… she sent the invitations weeks ago. Almost a month, actually.”
I nearly dropped my coffee. My invitation never came.
At first, I told myself it had to be a mistake. Maybe it got lost in the mail? Maybe she wanted to tell me in person? But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. We always talked about being in each other’s weddings. We used to stay up late planning everything down to the last detail—what dresses we’d wear, what songs we’d dance to, how we’d always be there for each other. And now she was getting married without me?
The weeks passed, and I saw posts all over social media. Friends gushed about how excited they were for Amber’s big day.
Can’t wait to celebrate you!
You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, Amber!
Bachelorette party!!
I tried not to let it get to me. Maybe she had a reason. Maybe she just got so busy she forgot. But when Lauren called me, bubbling with excitement about the dress she’d bought for the wedding, reality hit me like a truck.
“I got this gorgeous midnight blue dress, Ives! And my grandmother’s earrings will go perfectly with it. Have you decided what you’re wearing?”
“Lauren, she still hasn’t invited me,” I said flatly.
The silence on the line stretched.
I didn’t ask Amber why. I waited, hoping she’d tell me herself. I gave her every opportunity. But she never said a word—not even when we got our nails done together.
I almost didn’t go to that appointment, but a part of me wanted to see if she’d say something. I was hoping for a clue, a hint, anything that would make this make sense.
“I’m going with a neutral color,” Amber said, smiling as she admired her hands.
I glanced down. No engagement ring. That was weird.
“Pretty,” I said. “I’m doing fiery red.”
She didn’t even flinch. No guilt, no hesitation. Just casual conversation, like nothing was wrong.
Had I done something to hurt her? Had I upset her without realizing it?
Did she actually think I was going to crash her wedding and steal her groom?
Something wasn’t right. Deep down, I knew it. Amber was hiding something. And I was going to find out what.
So, I crashed the wedding.
I hadn’t spoken to Amber since that day at the salon, but Lauren kept me updated, sending me screenshots of posts Amber had made, carefully hiding them from me.
“Sorry, Ives,” she said one afternoon as we sat in the park, eating ice cream. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Have you tried talking to her?”
“We got our nails done, but she never said a word,” I admitted. “She wasn’t even wearing a ring.”
But now, I stood in front of the wedding venue, watching guests arrive, their laughter and excitement filling the air.
I felt out of place. I knew these people. Amber’s family had been like a second family to me growing up.
She should have told me.
I thought back to our last real conversation, before the wedding rumors started. We had been sitting in her apartment, sharing a bottle of wine, flipping through wedding magazines.
I had circled a dress I thought she’d love. She had been quiet, tense. I had brushed it off, assuming she was stressed.
“Why do you have so many wedding magazines, anyway?” I had asked.
“It’s for a project,” she had said carefully. “I’m designing a wedding dress. If I get this right, I’ll get more clients.”
Had she been lying?
Now, I remembered how she had gripped her wine glass a little too tightly when I asked about her dream wedding dress. How she had shut down completely when I asked about her dream groom.
“You live in your head too much, Ivy,” she had said.
I should have known then.
I walked into the wedding like I belonged there, head high, heart pounding.
The venue was stunning. Soft golden lights, elegant décor—Amber had poured herself into every detail. It was perfect.
For a second, I thought maybe this was all a misunderstanding.
Until I stepped into the main hall.
The room went silent.
People turned to look at me. Some whispered. Others gave me looks of pity, like I had just walked into something tragic.
My stomach twisted.
Then, I saw her.
Amber stood at the front of the room, frozen in place, her beautiful white dress flowing around her like a cloud.
And then I saw him.
Standing beside her, in a sleek black tux, was my father.
My father. The man who abandoned me when I was ten years old. The man I hadn’t seen since.
Amber knew.
That’s why I wasn’t invited.
She had been hiding this from me.
The world blurred. My breath caught. My mind screamed at me to run, to get out, to forget I ever saw this.
But I wasn’t that little girl waiting by the window anymore.
“You,” I said, voice steady despite the storm inside me.
My father hesitated.
“Ivy…” his voice was deeper, unfamiliar. “I—”
Amber rushed forward. “I was going to tell you—”
“When?” I snapped. “Before or after the honeymoon? Maybe when you were pregnant with my half-sibling?”
She winced. “I didn’t know how to—”
“How to what? Tell me you were marrying the man who walked out on me?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, but I barely noticed.
“Why now? After all these years, why her?”
My father sighed. “I know I owe you an explanation.”
I laughed bitterly. “You owe me a lot more than that.”
“I left because I had to, not because I wanted to,” he said.
I stared at him, heart pounding. “You let me believe you were dead. You let me think I wasn’t even worth a goodbye.”
Amber wiped at her tears like she was the one who had lost something.
“And you,” I said, turning on her. “When did you think this was okay?”
She looked away.
“Congratulations,” I said coldly. “You’re officially family now. I hope it was worth it.”
I turned and walked out.
“Ivy, please,” my father called. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.
“Please, Philip,” I said, voice cold. “You lost me years ago. You just never cared enough to look.”
That night, I sat in my car, staring at Amber’s text.
Ivy, I’m so sorry. Please talk to me.
I deleted it.
For the first time in years, I felt like I had finally stopped waiting by the window.
I was done.
