On Emma and Lucas’s wedding day, a mysterious elderly woman appeared in their driveway and insisted on reading Emma’s palm. Emma, skeptical of such practices, resisted—until the woman revealed details far too specific to be guessed.
That morning had felt like something out of a dream. My wedding day. My heart was light, the air crisp with promise. The house buzzed with anticipation as my bridesmaids were set to arrive for a champagne brunch paired with a lavish charcuterie spread. I was marrying Lucas—my best friend, my partner, the man who made me believe that forever wasn’t just a fairytale. My wedding gown hung ready in its garment bag, and everything was unfolding exactly as I’d imagined.
It was supposed to be perfect.
Since our wedding was happening that night on a yacht, we had the entire day to prepare and bask in the joy of what was to come.
Or so I thought.
Wearing my sheet mask and slippers, I stepped outside to meet the floral delivery guy. I’d asked for a last-minute delivery to keep the blooms fresh.
But someone else was waiting.
There, just past the front walkway, stood an elderly woman. Her clothes were layered, tattered, and weather-stained. Her long gray hair whipped around in the breeze, and she looked like she hadn’t slept indoors for days. But what stopped me cold were her eyes—sharp, pale blue, and almost unnervingly intelligent.
“Child,” she called gently, her voice calm but commanding. “Come closer, child.”
I froze. My instincts whispered to go back inside. But something about her stare rooted me to the spot. I stepped closer, wary but intrigued. Maybe she needed help. I could make her a quick cup of tea, a sandwich, and send her on her way.
I mean—who turns away an elderly woman on their wedding day?
She held out her hand and said, “Let me see your hand, child. Let your lines tell their secrets.”
I gave her a polite smile. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to be kind. “I don’t really believe in that kind of thing.”
She smiled, but her expression didn’t waver. “You don’t need to believe. Just listen. Sometimes that’s enough.”
Before I could protest, she gently took my hand in hers. Her grip surprised me—it was strong despite her fragile appearance. I should have walked away. But I didn’t.
She traced a line across my palm with one crooked finger. “The man you are about to marry,” she said, her voice suddenly quieter, more somber. “He carries a mark on his right thigh. A heart-shaped birthmark.”
I stiffened. My stomach clenched. That detail—only I knew that about Lucas. It wasn’t something he ever talked about, not even around friends. How did she know?
She looked up, her voice low and even. “And his mother? She’s not part of his life, is she? You’ve been told she passed.”
I nodded slowly. A shiver crawled down my spine.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
Her eyes darkened, her tone shifting.
“Child… he will bring ruin to your life. You still have time to choose differently. If you don’t believe me, check the stuffed rabbit in his closet. There lies the truth.”
My hand jerked away. “What are you talking about?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Listen to your gut, child. Love built on lies does not last.”
Before I could reply, the floral van arrived. I snatched the bouquet from the driver and rushed back inside, slamming the door. My heart thudded in my ears as her words echoed in my mind.
A stuffed rabbit.
Lucas had a toy rabbit from his childhood. He once mentioned his mother gave it to him before she died. It lived in the back of his closet, tucked away like a secret.
Curiosity—or fear—compelled me. I pulled off my mask, texted my bridesmaids a brief message:
“Running a quick errand. I’ll let you know when I’m back. Save the champagne for me!”
I whispered to myself, “Okay, Emma. Let’s find that rabbit.”
With Lucas getting ready at his dad’s place, I had the house to myself. I headed straight to the closet and retrieved the faded gray rabbit. Its fur was thinning, its button eyes loose.
Then I saw it.
A tiny zipper along its back.
I unzipped it with trembling fingers and found a small bundle of folded letters. My pulse pounded as I read the first one.
“Why are you ashamed of me, son? Please don’t shut me out. I love you.” — Mom
The next was worse.
“I’ve been calling and calling. Why won’t you answer me?”
Then a third:
“Just once, please. Let me see your face and know you’re alright.”
My knees gave out and I collapsed onto the bedroom floor. Lucas’s mother wasn’t dead. She’d been trying to reach him. Desperate to be part of his life. And he had lied—not just to me, but to himself.
I dialed his number, my fingers icy and shaking.
“Hey babe,” he answered cheerfully. “What’s up? Cold feet already?”
“You need to come home,” I said, my voice trembling. “Right now.”
“Emma? Is everything okay?”
“Just come,” I replied, and hung up.
Lucas showed up a short while later, concerned. “What’s going on? We’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding, remember?”
I held up the rabbit, the letters now fanned in my hands. “Explain this,” I said quietly.
His face turned white. He stared at the notes and sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.
“It’s complicated,” he finally said.
“Complicated?” I repeated, incredulous. “You told me your mother was dead.”
He looked up, tears brimming. “My dad made me choose. After the divorce, he said she wasn’t good enough—that she drank too much, couldn’t hold a decent job. He said I’d have a better life without her. I was twelve, Emma. I didn’t know any better.”
“And now? You’re not twelve anymore. She begged to see you. These letters prove it. How long have you been ignoring her?”
He nodded, ashamed. “Too long. I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought… I thought it was easier to pretend she was gone.”
I stared at him, heartbroken.
“How can I marry someone I can’t trust?”
His face crumpled. “Please, Emma. Don’t call off the wedding. I’ll make it right. I’ll go find her—I still have her address. I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I took a breath. “Do it. But until you do, I can’t walk down the aisle with you.”
Hours passed. I canceled the yacht, texted my bridesmaids, and asked them to keep the guests fed and informed. I sat alone, thinking not only of Lucas—but of the old woman who had risked everything to stop me.
At dusk, someone knocked on the door.
It was Lucas. His shoulders slumped, his eyes glassy. But there was peace on his face.
“I found her,” he said softly. “I said everything I needed to say. And she forgave me.”
Behind him stood the old woman—no longer just a stranger. Her silver hair glowed in the fading light.
“Emma,” Lucas said, voice cracking. “This is my mother. This is Miriam.”
Tears flooded my eyes. I stepped forward and hugged her.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She smiled gently. “Thank you for letting him come back.”
Lucas and I didn’t marry that night. The months that followed were about healing—rebuilding not just our trust, but his relationship with the woman who gave him life. We helped Miriam get medical tests and therapy. Though she wasn’t ready to live with anyone, we found her a cozy apartment nearby.
Eventually, we did get married. A small, intimate ceremony. Miriam stood beside us.
Love doesn’t need to start perfectly. But it must begin with truth.
If you were in my shoes, what would you have done?
