His First Love Stole My Wedding,I Chose Myself and Left

On the day of our wedding photo shoot, Orson Gilbert showed up four hours late.

The wind off the water was strong, and I'd been standing there in a strapless gown since morning, waiting from sunup into the afternoon, my arms gone stiff with cold.

The photographer asked me for the sixth time whether we wanted to reschedule.

I made excuses for Orson. "He's busy. He'll be here any minute."

But I didn't even believe the words coming out of my own mouth.

By evening, Orson finally arrived.

He wasn't alone. A woman climbed out of the passenger seat, his suit jacket draped over her arms.