The Wrong Bride

My husband, Mark, and I have this thing where we get a photoshoot done every anniversary. It’s kind of our tradition. Ten years, though? That was a big one, so of course, we went all out. The girl at the studio was flipping through the pics on the computer when she suddenly stops.

“Oh, looks like there’s a few extra ones of your husband here,” she says, pointing.

I stare at the screen. The man is definitely Mark. But the woman in the wedding dress? That’s not me. The studio employee kept scrolling through the pictures. Mark, my husband, was there, all right, but the woman rocking the white dress wasn’t me.

It was his assistant, Tiffany.