The night before her wedding, my best friend Willa pulled me aside. She had this smug little grin on her face and whispered, “Come here. I want to show you something.” I followed her out onto the hotel balcony, where the city lights flickered like stars.
Then she slipped her jacket off her shoulder and revealed a fresh tattoo — a tiny half-moon inked right below her collarbone.
“For the man I truly love,” she said, her voice dreamy.
I blinked. “Wait… what? Willa, your wedding’s tomorrow. You’re marrying Timothy.”
She grinned. “Oh, Delaney. You really think I’d get something this personal for Tim? Please.”
And that’s when she dropped the bomb.
She wanted to run away with someone else — the man she really loved. She begged me to help her escape. Her exact words?
“Del, you’re the only one I trust. Help me get out of here. Help me leave with him.”
I nearly said yes.
Until later that night, when I found the other half of that tattoo… on my husband.
I’m not the dramatic type. I’m not the woman people make movies about. I work part-time at a craft store. My life is made of grocery runs, lukewarm coffee, and laundry piles. Even our couch has given up and has that permanent dent where I sit watching home renovation shows I’ll never afford to imitate.
Caleb, my husband, once told me I was “comforting… like an old hoodie.” I think he meant it as a compliment.
We weren’t fireworks. We were soft pillows and Tuesday leftovers. Safe. Predictable.
And I convinced myself that was enough.
So when Willa asked for “one night of sparkle” before her wedding, I went full Pinterest board. I planned a bachelorette party that would make reality TV blush.
“Okay,” I said one night, pacing our kitchen. “Rooftop with fairy lights. Custom cocktails. Maybe a violinist?”
Caleb looked up from his laptop. “You planning a wedding or a rave?”
“It’s just the bachelorette. Willa wants elegant but wild. That’s a thing, right?”
He shut his laptop slowly. “I know a spot. That place on Beech Street?”
“You know that one?”
“Yeah. They do those smoked cocktails. She’d love it. You too.”
That shocked me. Caleb barely remembered my birthday, let alone where my best friend might want to drink.
“But it’s expensive,” I said, watching him closely. “Like, twice my budget.”
He shrugged. “Go for it. I’ll cover the rest.”
I blinked. “You’ll pay for Willa’s party?”
“She’s your best friend. It’s her wedding. Once-in-a-lifetime… hopefully.”
That surprised me more than anything. Caleb was practical. Cheap, even. Our anniversary gifts were usually handwritten notes and gas station candy.
I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you and what did you do with my husband?”
He smiled and nudged my leg, but winced a little.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just sore. Gym was intense.”
He rubbed his shoulder awkwardly. Almost like… he was hiding something.
I let it go.
Willa’s party was magic.
Laughter, dancing, glittering lights. Everyone looked stunning. Willa was the queen of the night — glowing, wild, unstoppable.
I was snapping pictures of her in front of a neon “Wild Before Wed” sign when she slipped off her jacket.
And I froze.
There it was — the half-moon tattoo. Fresh. Sharp. Inked perfectly on her shoulder.
I stepped closer. “Willa… is that a tattoo?”
She laughed like it was nothing. “Oh, that? Just a little something.”
“That’s new. And it’s… wait, is that Timothy’s idea?”
Willa burst into laughter. “Timothy? Please. He’d faint if I suggested matching tattoos.”
“So it is a matching one?!”
“Come with me,” she whispered, grabbing my hand.
We ducked down a candlelit hallway, past bathrooms and linen closets.
“Okay,” she said, whispering. “Don’t freak out.”
“Too late.”
“I fell in love.”
My jaw dropped. “You what?!”
“Real love. Not the kind I have with Tim. This one spins my head and makes my stomach flip. It’s intense.”
“But you’re getting married… in 48 hours.”
“I know,” she sighed dramatically. “But it’s too late to cancel. My mom would have a heart attack. So I’m going through with it.”
I blinked. “You’re going through with the wedding… even though you’re in love with someone else?”
“I’m gonna run,” she said, eyes twinkling. “After the first dance. Take the gifts, the cards, and vanish. Like a movie.”
“Willa, this isn’t a movie! It’s a wedding! With a real groom!”
“Oh c’mon, Del. You always say weddings are chaotic. People forget the details.”
“I meant the cake flavor, not the groom!”
She just giggled. “Be my getaway driver?”
“Wait — what?!”
“Please. I need someone I trust. I can’t haul all the gifts by myself.”
“You want me to help you rob your own wedding?!”
“Not rob. Reclaim.”
I stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“As serious as this tattoo. I’m happy, Del. For the first time in forever. Please.”
I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no.
That night, I slid into bed beside Caleb. He was already asleep. Oddly, he wore a T-shirt, which he never did.
He hated feeling “constricted,” he always said.
Then I noticed something.
His sleeve was pushed up, and peeking out from under the fabric… was a small, dark curve.
A tattoo.
A half-moon.
The other half.
My heart dropped like a stone in my chest.
The day of the wedding, I had to act. Smile. Hold flowers. Be the loyal maid of honor.
Even though my insides were screaming.
Willa looked like a fairytale — silk dress, glowing skin, perfect hair.
And I stood beside her, dying inside, remembering everything. The tattoo. The lie. The betrayal.
I smiled anyway.
Willa’s big escape plan was ready. She had insisted on a wooden “gift wagon,” wheeled and draped in lace. She said it was “boho chic.”
Really, it was a convenient getaway cart for all her stolen presents.
Here was the plan:
— Guests drop gifts in the wagon.
— Willa disappears for a dress “emergency.”
— I meet her out back.
— We drive away into the sunset.
Yeah, no. Not my plan.
Mine had a few… adjustments.
Caleb acted normal. Too normal. Drinking cocktails, chatting up guests, disappearing to the restroom right before the ceremony.
Sure, honey. Go ahead. Enjoy your last few moments of freedom.
Then it began. Willa took my hand as we walked down the aisle. Her fingers trembled.
“This is really happening…” she whispered.
“Yes. It is,” I replied.
Her voice full of excitement. Mine, full of something else.
Later, I took her limo keys and drove her around the block.
She was giddy in the backseat, giggling, excited.
Until she realized… we weren’t going to the highway.
We were looping back.
To the front.
To the guests.
To the big reveal.
And then — it happened.
The giant white banner dropped from the second-floor balcony.
“MY HUSBAND. MY BEST FRIEND. ONE TATTOO.”
Gasps erupted. Everyone stared. And above the words?
A photo. Her shoulder. His back. The two halves of the same moon tattoo — together.
Willa stepped out of the limo, confused. Then it hit.
A wave of thick, black liquid poured from above — ink, paint, whatever it was — right onto her white dress. Ruining everything.
She screamed. The crowd stared. Phones recorded.
“Is this… real?” someone whispered.
I stepped out calmly, walked to the bar, and grabbed a glass of rosé.
“Thank you,” I said to the bartender, who stood frozen.
Caleb was nearby. Still. Silent. Busted.
Then Timothy, the groom, finally saw it all.
He looked between Willa and me, then said loud enough for everyone:
“You slept with your best friend’s husband?!”
I nodded slowly. “And asked me to help her run away with him.”
Willa’s jaw dropped. “I just… I always had to watch her be perfect,” she shouted suddenly. “Delaney always got the attention, the love, the guy. Caleb was supposed to be mine!”
I stepped closer. “You don’t earn things, Willa. You wait for others to mess up. Then you try to steal what’s left.”
Everyone heard it.
Timothy turned to her, his voice shaking. “I want you gone, Willa. Now.”
She turned to Caleb for support.
But he stepped away.
“You and I?” Timothy growled, grabbing Caleb by the collar. “We’re not done.”
He dragged him away behind the chapel. Guests parted. Phones up. Some people cheered.
I took another sip and said loud enough:
“Take your time, honey. I’ll see you in court. After your bruises heal.”
And for once, I wasn’t the woman quietly keeping everything together.
I was the one pulling the last thread — and watching it all unravel.
And it was glorious.