When the church doors opened, my fiancée wasn’t wearing white — she was in a wedding dress made from army shirts. The room went silent. Then she stopped halfway down the aisle, looked at me, and said something that made me think the wedding was over.For months, my fiancée, Clara, had been acting strangely. Every night after dinner, she disappeared into the spare room at the end of the hall, which she’d converted into a sewing room.We were getting married in six weeks, and she’d decided to make her own dress, so I didn’t think much of it at first.”How’s the dress coming along?” I asked one night.She smiled. “It’s going to be really special.”Then she went down the hall and shut herself in. A few minutes later, the sewing machine started.

The low, steady hum of the sewing machine became like a second heartbeat behind the walls.Once, I woke up at four because I thought I heard rain. It wasn’t rain — it was the machine, still running.The next morning, she came into the kitchen with a ponytail half falling out and shadows under her eyes.I stared at her. “Did you even sleep?””A little.” She kissed my forehead. “I’m okay.”I didn’t believe her.Any time I asked about the dress, she got light and evasive.Wait a little longer, Mark — our wedding is going to be unforgettable.””You haven’t let your bridesmaids see it?” I asked once.”My mom is going to faint over that.””She’ll survive.”