The night before my wedding, I realized the women in the next hotel room were not my friends.
It happened shortly after midnight at the historic Lakeview Hotel in Newport, Rhode Island, where my bridesmaids and I had reserved a block of rooms before the ceremony. I couldn’t sleep. My wedding dress hung from the wardrobe in a white garment bag, my vow cards were stacked neatly on the nightstand, and every few minutes I picked up my phone to reread the last message from my fiancé, Ethan: See you at the altar tomorrow, beautiful.
I had just switched off the lamp when laughter drifted through the wall.
At first, I ignored it. Then I heard my maid of honor, Vanessa, unmistakably clear.
“Spill wine on her dress, lose the rings, whatever it takes,” she said. “She doesn’t deserve him.”
