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The Bridesmaid’s Confession

 

Art by Anthony Azekwoh, The bride’s maid short story competition:

“Oh my God, he is not breathing, what are we going to do?” I said in a terrified tone.


“I don’t know, but let’s try and dispose of his body, and clean up the blood. I don’t want to go to jail,” she replied in a shaky voice.


“Dispose of the body? How? This is not how I planned my life,” I said in deep regret.


“I know, but remember—he was trying to kill you. Let’s just get the body out of the room first, then we’ll figure out everything later,” she replied, trying to convince me.


“I’m not sure we are able to do anything now…” I paused for a minute, then exhaled. “Okay, I’ll lock the room. We’ll go out together, and I’ll come back later and fix the mess. Come on, go dress.”


Shit. I’m in a deep mess.


I know you’re probably wondering—what happened?


Let me explain.


I’m Vurale, a bridesmaid who just got involved in the attempted murder of the bride’s ex. Yes, my friend’s ex—the one who snuck in and tried to kill her while we were both in the room together. When I tried to intervene, he began choking me, and she, in a panic, smashed his head with the base of a glass jar.


That was the scene you just saw. But let’s start from the beginning.


Ibifubara—my casual friend—had asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. We were university course-mates who grew close, not best friends, but more than acquaintances. When she asked, I hesitated, nervous about the whole bridesmaid duty, but I had never experienced it before, so I agreed.


I bought the aso-ebi dress and prepared myself. On the day of the wedding, I thought I’d surprise her with a personal gift. Around 5 a.m., while she was showering and getting ready for the biggest day of her life, I knocked on her door. She let me in, delighted by the surprise, and we sat chatting as she tried to calm her nerves.


Then it happened.


The door flew open. A man stormed in and lunged at her. Before I could even process what was happening, his hands were wrapped around her neck. I jumped to her aid, reaching for a vase, but he swung around and caught me too, squeezing the air out of me. Just when I thought I was gone, Ibifubara grabbed the vase and brought it down on his head with every ounce of fear and desperation in her body.


He collapsed. Motionless.


And there we were, trembling, blood on the carpet, the weight of a secret pressing on our chests.


Before we could leave, the door burst open again. Security guards rushed in—followed by her husband-to-be. Their eyes darted from us to the man on the floor.


It turned out the ex had been chased through the hotel already. He had broken in, determined to ruin everything, determined to ruin her.


We explained what happened. Self-defense—it was the truth, but in that moment, all I could see were handcuffs waiting for me. So when they asked who struck the blow, I told them it was me.


They led me away in handcuffs. I glanced back at Ibifubara one last time, her white dress stained with fear and guilt. She wanted to speak, but her husband pulled her close, whispering something I couldn’t hear.


As the police van door slammed shut, it hit me—sometimes being a loyal friend means becoming the sacrifice.


I told myself it was worth it. That she deserved her happiness. That maybe behind bars, I would find peace knowing I saved her wedding day.


But in the pit of my stomach, I knew… no one would ever believe my story. And that was how I became the bridesmaid who wore handcuffs instead of lace.

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