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So the story begins with me believing that I had finally found the One. That individual who from a tender young age all women hear about who is supposed to be your perfect match, and treat you wonderfully. We were dating for about a year and a half before he proposed. It was out of a fairy tale - a carriage ride through Central Park in NYC. I was elated, and everything was working. The one thing I hadn't counted on was my family not approving. They did like him in the beginning, but something changed. I didn't understand but gradually over time there were little moments that didn't sit well with me. I continued to use the wedding as a distraction and ended up becoming the owner of a dress. A beautiful, and elegant dress that I was going to be so happy to wear to my wedding. The day I became something to someone. The day I had waited for, and thought I finally found. Then the bottom dropped out.

We had been together for almost 3 years, and the week leading up to the break up was the worst of my life. I was physically ill, we argued a lot, and I wrestled with the idea of separating. He actually had the gall to give me an ultimatum - either him and our wedding or my family, but I couldn't have both. He later tried to take it back, but it didn't fly. I remember finding the strength somehow, and after the drive to his place I don't know how I did it, but I ended it all - the relationship, the wedding, the friendship.

So this is where I am- almost 2 months later, and I'm stuck with the worst reminder of what was and would have been. This wedding dress; for now it sits in the closet, but I would love to sell it...