Frederick had soothed me, told me not to let her get under my skin, and promised that one day he'd give me the most exquisite wedding dress in the world.
He had pulled every string he had to honor that promise. Years later, it was finally finished. The moment I saw the photos of the completed gown, I was captivated.
I had been so full of joy, so eager to see it on myself. And now it turned out to be Agatha's gift all along—tailored to her body.
Everything I'd been holding back shattered at once. I sobbed, my whole frame shaking.
The attendants saw me trembling and assumed I was overcome with happiness. They rushed to dab the tears from my cheeks.
They were nearly done with the final lacing when the ribbons refused to close. The measurements were wrong. The staff exchanged bewildered glances.
When I finally steadied myself enough to speak, my voice came out low and even:
"I'm not Agatha Dickerson. And I won't have a husband much longer."
"This dress isn't mine either. Something this tasteless wouldn't interest me anyway."