Morning broke clear and golden. Sunlight spilled across the curtains as Clara’s mother tiptoed into her room with breakfast on a tray. The house was already humming with activity—bouquets arriving, dresses being steamed, relatives laughing in the kitchen. Clara’s stomach fluttered with nerves and joy.
Stephanie entered moments later, arms full of ribbons and lace. Her hair was immaculate, her movements precise. “Don’t panic, I checked everything twice,” she said, setting down her bundle. “The flowers are here, the band’s tuning, the arch looks incredible.” She touched Clara’s cheek, her voice softening. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”