It was supposed to be the best day of my life. Our wedding day. But instead of saying “I do,” I stood transfixed in the center of the wedding hall as two police officers approached me, clutching a photo of my fiancé.
I met Andrew six months ago at an art museum that a buddy took me to.
And there he was.
Andrew.
Tall, with unruly dark hair, paint flecks on his hands, and a smile that will make you forget your own name.
He was displaying some of his work that night, a collection of dreamy, surrealist landscapes that piqued my interest. When I went over to one of his paintings, he appeared next to me.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Honestly? It’s beautiful. Breathtaking,” I said, looking at him instead of the canvas.
We became inseparable after that.
He enjoyed dates that included food from vendors and long walks. And he lived in a little studio apartment with canvases stacked to the ceiling.
But he was friendly, passionate, and incredibly brilliant.
Andrew proposed that evening after we had barely been officially together for four months. How could I have answered anything other than ‘yes’?
It was meant to be.
My father, on the other hand, was infuriated.
“A man who has nothing to his name except some paintbrushes and a dream,” my father shouted. “Do you really think he loves you for who you are, Serene? Or is he after the money that you come with? Our family fortune!”
My father was not convinced at all. He refused to give us his blessing, and while my mother attempted to remain impartial, I could tell she wasn’t happy either.
I still believed in Andrew.
The morning of the wedding was hectic but joyful.
But as the ceremony came, something seemed odd. Andrew was nowhere to be found.
The ceremony was due to begin at 2 p.m., but forty-five minutes later, the murmuring among the attendees grew louder.
Just as I was going to contact him again, the hall doors opened, and two men dressed in police uniforms entered.
“Ma’am,” one of them said, striding toward me. “Do you know this man?”
“That’s my fiancé. That’s Andrew! What’s going on?”
“We’re sorry to inform you, but your fiancé has been apprehended. He broke into your family’s estate earlier today while everyone was here and attempted to rob the house.”
They invited me and my parents to accompany them to the scene.
When we arrived, the officers did not drive us to a police station. Instead, they stopped outside an old warehouse on the outskirts of town.
When I stepped inside, I froze.
There were paint tins everywhere. Old paintbrushes are lying throughout. It seemed like Andrew’s studio.
A mural could be found on a big wall that stretched across the warehouse.
A stunning, larger-than-life graffiti painting of a bride and groom.
In the corner of the mural were the words:
Forever yours, Andrew.
Andrew stepped out from behind a canvas and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“It’s my wedding gift to you, Serene, my love,” he said, gesturing toward the mural. “I wanted to give you something that would last forever, something that showed how much I love you. The police officers are actors, I hired them to play along. I know it’s a bit dramatic, but I wanted to make today unforgettable.”
For a time, my father simply stared at him. He then chuckled, which sh0cked me.
“Well, I’ll give you this,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve got talent. And guts. I still don’t fully trust you… but you’ve earned my respect today.”
I raced to my fiancé and flung my arms around him, laughing and crying all at once.
We all returned to the site together, and Andrew explained everything to our bewildered guests. My father even offered a glass to Andrew during the reception, admitting that he may have misjudged him.
It turns out that sometimes love doesn’t require flawless timing or rationale. It requires trust, inventiveness, and a small amount of risk.
