My father thought destroying my wedding dresses would destr0y me too.
At two in the morning, he stormed into my room with a pair of scissors and sliced apart every gown I had carefully chosen for the biggest day of my life. My mother stood by and watched. My brother laughed. They expected me to cancel the wedding in tears. Instead, when the church doors opened the next morning, I walked in wearing something they never dared touch—and the look on their faces was priceless.
Dos noches antes de mi boda, mi padre se paró frente a mis vestidos de novia destrozados y se burló: “Sin vestido no hay boda”. Mi madre observó en silencio mientras mi hermano se reía al ver cuatro hermosos vestidos destrozados en el suelo de mi habitación de la infancia.
