I’m Claire, 35, and three weeks ago, I thought my life was set. I was marrying Ryan, my dream guy, after two years of love and laughter. Wedding planning took over, but I loved every moment, from picking flowers to fitting my dress. I’d dreamed of this since I was a kid, twirling in my mom’s old gowns. Ryan and I met at a friend’s party, bonding over a tricky pickle jar. His warm smile and easy humor won me over. We clicked instantly, talking all night. He proposed last winter at our favorite café, and I said yes without a doubt.
Our engagement was smooth, despite friends warning about wedding stress. We chose the venue, tasted cakes, and grew closer. But a week before the wedding, Ryan got weird—distracted, glued to his phone, vague about his bachelor trip. He said it was just hiking with friends, so I packed him snacks, blaming nerves. Days later, at the mall buying gifts, I ran into his groomsman, Nate. “You’re so cool about the closure trip,” he said. My heart stopped. “Closure trip?” Nate spilled—Ryan was going to Miami with his ex, Sophie, not hiking. I played it off, fishing for details, learning it was a morning flight.
Shocked, I drove home, staring at my wedding dress, no longer a symbol of joy. I called Ethan, my college ex, who I’d stayed friendly with through occasional texts. I told him about Ryan’s betrayal and asked for a wild favor. “Pretend we’re taking a closure trip, too?” he laughed. “Book it.” I planned a trip to Puerto Rico. On Ryan’s departure day, I wore a sundress and spotted him with Sophie at the airport, laughing like old times. I walked up, smiling. “Ryan!” His face went pale. I turned to Ethan, kissing his cheek. “Ready, babe?”
Ryan panicked. “What’s this?” I grinned. “You’re getting closure? So are we!” Ethan played along, shaking Ryan’s hand, saying closure was key before marriage. We walked to our gate, actually flying to Puerto Rico. Ryan’s texts flooded in—excuses, accusations—but I blocked him before takeoff. In Puerto Rico, Ethan and I reconnected, talking for hours on the beach. What started as revenge became real. We’d split in college over distance, but now, at 35, we fit perfectly again.
We extended our trip, falling back in love. Ethan moved to my city, proposed, and we married in a cozy ceremony. Ryan emailed months later, “Guess your closure worked.” It sure did. That trip wasn’t just revenge—it was my path to true love. I learned to trust my instincts and choose someone who values me. My wedding wasn’t what I planned, but it was everything I needed.
