On My Wedding Day, a Mysterious Old Woman Gave Me a Warning—What I Discovered Changed Everything
On the morning of my wedding, everything was just as I had imagined—chaotic but exciting, filled with love and laughter. My bridesmaids were on their way, and we planned to enjoy a light lunch with a cheese platter and a glass of champagne before getting ready.
My wedding dress hung in its protective cover, waiting for the moment I would walk down the aisle to marry Alexander—my best friend and the man who had made me believe in forever. Our wedding was meant to be unique. We had chosen to get married at night, on a yacht, making the entire day a leisurely build-up to the biggest moment of our lives.
Or so I thought.
I had just applied a face mask and stepped outside to meet the courier delivering my bouquet, ensuring the flowers would be as fresh as possible.
That’s when I saw her.
She stood on the pathway leading through my front yard—a frail old woman with weathered skin, disheveled gray hair, and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks. But despite her appearance, her eyes were piercingly sharp.
There was something unsettling about how calm she seemed.
“Girl,” she called out in a quiet but confident voice. “Come here, child.”
I hesitated. Every instinct told me to ignore her and go back inside, but there was something about her gaze that held me in place. Against my better judgment, I stepped closer.
Maybe she was hungry? I could offer her tea and a sandwich before sending her on her way.
After all, it was my wedding day. I couldn’t just turn her away.
“Give me your hand, girl,” she said, extending her own. “Let me read your fate. Let’s see what your future holds.”
“I’m sorry,” I replied with a forced smile. “But I don’t believe in that.”
She smirked slightly.
“You don’t have to believe, my dear,” she said. “You only need to listen. Perhaps something will stir in your soul.”
Before I could respond, she gently took my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a frail woman. I should have pulled away, but I didn’t.
“The man you are about to marry,” she murmured, tracing the lines on my palm, “does he have a birthmark on his right thigh? A heart-shaped one?”
My breath hitched. My stomach clenched.
No one knew about Alexander’s birthmark. No one.
“And his mother?” she continued. “She hasn’t been in his life, has she? She’s gone, isn’t she?”
A shiver ran down my spine. I slowly nodded.
“How… how do you know this?” I whispered.
Her expression darkened.
“Child, he will ruin your life. But you still have a choice. If you want to know the truth, look inside the plush rabbit he keeps in his closet.”
I yanked my hand away, stepping back.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
“Trust your instincts,” she said simply. “And remember this—love built on lies will crumble.”
Before I could react, my bouquet arrived. Quickly grabbing it from the courier, I rushed inside, slamming the door behind me. My heart pounded, her words echoing in my head.
The plush rabbit.
Alexander had told me about it before. A childhood toy—one of the last gifts his mother had given him before she passed away. He kept it in his closet as a memory of her.
I hurriedly washed off my face mask and typed a quick message to my bridesmaids:
“Girls, I need to step out for a few minutes. I’ll be back soon. Then we celebrate!”
I took a deep breath.
“Alright, Katya,” I told myself. “Time to find that rabbit.”
Alexander was at his father’s house, getting ready. That meant I had the place to myself. I could do whatever I wanted.
I walked into our bedroom, opened his closet, and pulled out the stuffed rabbit. Its gray fur was slightly worn, and I immediately noticed the zipper on its back.
My heartbeat quickened. I unzipped it and reached inside.
My fingers brushed against something—papers.
I pulled them out.
The first note read:
“My son, why are you ashamed of me? Please don’t abandon me. I love you. – Mom.”
I froze. My heart clenched painfully.
The second note:
“Why won’t you answer? I’ve been calling you for weeks.”
And the third:
“Please, let me see you just once. I need to know that you’re okay.”
My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor.
His mother was alive.
She had been desperately trying to reach him.
How had these letters been delivered? Had she been slipping them into our mailbox?
It hit me like a punch to the gut—Alexander had lied.
He had lied about one of the most important parts of his life.
I picked up my phone and called him.
He answered immediately. “Katya? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Come home. Now.”
When he arrived, I silently handed him the letters. His face went pale as he read them. He sat down, pressing his hands to his face.
“It’s complicated,” he whispered.
I crossed my arms, anger bubbling inside me.
“You lied to me. How am I supposed to marry you now?”
Tears welled in his eyes. He confessed that after his parents’ bitter divorce, his father had pressured him to cut ties with his mother. He was young, confused, and eventually, he convinced himself it was for the best.
But she had never stopped trying to reach him.
That evening, I saw the old woman again.
Only now, I knew her name.
She was Alexander’s mother.
The wedding was called off. But months later, we held a small, intimate celebration—one where his mother stood by our side.
Because sometimes, love isn’t about grand beginnings.
It’s about finding the truth and choosing the people who truly matter.