The night before my wedding, I stopped believing that the women in the hotel room next door were my friends.
It happened just after midnight at the historic Lakeview Hotel in Newport, Rhode Island.
My bridesmaids and I had booked a block of rooms there before the ceremony. Everything had been planned for months. The flowers were arranged. The photographer was confirmed. The seating chart was finished. My wedding dress was hanging safely inside a white garment bag, and my handwritten vows were stacked neatly on the nightstand.
Our wedding had cost nearly $38,000, including the venue, flowers, photographer and hotel rooms.
I should have been excited.
Instead, I was lying awake, unable to sleep.
Every few minutes, I picked up my phone and reread the last message from my fiancé, Ethan.
See you at the altar tomorrow, beautiful.
I smiled at the screen.
Then I turned off the lamp.
A few seconds later, I heard laughter through the wall.
At first, I ignored it.
The rooms were close together, and I assumed the bridesmaids were simply celebrating one last night before the wedding.
Then I heard Vanessa.
My maid of honor.
My closest friend since college.
Her voice came through the wall so clearly that I could hear every word.
“Spill wine on her dress, lose the rings, whatever it takes,” she said. “She doesn’t deserve him.”
