The bell above the boutique door chimed softly as Helen stepped inside, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The air smelled of lavender and freshly steamed fabric. White lace dresses hung neatly on rows of racks, shimmering under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers.
For a moment, Helen forgot all her worries and just stood there, imagining herself walking down the aisle in one of those gowns. She’d been dreaming of this day since she was a little girl, not the extravagance or the luxury, but the feeling of finally marrying the man she loved. She was six months pregnant now, her rounded belly visible beneath her loose floral dress.
It wasn’t part of the plan, of course. When she and her fiancé, Caleb, got engaged, they had planned to marry the following spring. But life had its own timing, and when Helen found out she was expecting, they decided not to wait.
“I just want to look beautiful,” she had told her best friend earlier that morning. “Even if I can’t fit into the perfect dress, I still want to feel like a bride.”
Her friend had smiled encouragingly. “You will, Helen.
You always do.”
So there she was, walking into Ivory & Lace, one of the most prestigious bridal boutiques in the city. She had saved up for months, determined to find a gown that made her feel radiant, not self-conscious. A tall, slender saleswoman with glossy blonde hair approached, her heels clicking across the marble floor.
“Welcome to Ivory & Lace,” she said with a polished smile. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Helen replied, smiling back. “Under Helen Marshall.
One o’clock.”
The woman glanced at the tablet in her hand, her smile tightening. “Ah, yes. I see it here.
I’m Sabrina. I’ll be assisting you today.”
She looked Helen up and down quickly; her loose maternity dress, her slightly swollen ankles, the tired but hopeful look in her eyes, and the warmth in her voice seemed to cool. “Right this way,” Sabrina said, leading her toward a private fitting area.
“So… you’re the bride?”
“Yes,” Helen said softly. Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “And how far along are you?”
Helen hesitated, then said, “About six months.”
“Mm-hmm.” The sound carried more judgment than acknowledgment.
They reached a row of wedding gowns displayed on gold racks. Each one was labeled with a price that made Helen’s stomach twist. Sabrina gestured dramatically toward them.
“These are our newest designs. Handcrafted, imported lace, silk linings, our most exquisite collection.”
“They’re beautiful,” Helen said genuinely, though she knew most were far beyond her budget. Sabrina crossed her arms.
“They are. But they’re… well, very form-fitting. I’m not sure they’d be suitable for… your current figure.”
Helen blinked, caught off guard.
“Oh, I was hoping maybe we could find something a little more forgiving, maybe an empire waistline, or something that could be adjusted?”
Sabrina gave a small, practiced laugh. “We could look, but honestly, brides usually prefer to wait until after giving birth to do their fittings. You’ll be able to get back to your proper size then.”
Helen’s chest tightened.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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