My Wedding Planner Said I Canceled My Own Wedding but I Didn’t – The Truth Left Me Speechless

Chelsea is all set to marry Rasmus, the man of her dreams. But when the wedding day arrives and no guests show up, Chelsea has to figure out who canceled her wedding and whether her groom is right for her or not.

I’ve always wanted that ‘Happily Ever After’ kind of romantic life. So, when I met Rasmus, I thought I had finally gotten it. But as my wedding day began to unravel, it seemed I had gotten the nightmare version instead.

Rasmus and I met at a bakery. It was a sweet little meet-cute situation — where I was convinced he was the perfect person for me. We exchanged numbers over rye bread.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Chelsea,” he said, holding onto a loaf of artisanal bread.

He called me just as he left the bakery, wanting us to have dinner that night.

Two short years later, we were waking up to our wedding day.

That morning, I showered early, eagerly awaiting my hair and makeup appointments. I remember sitting at the edge of the hotel bed, looking at my dress and holding my breath.

I couldn’t wait to marry Rasmus. I couldn’t wait to begin our lives together.

So, the day went on — my maid of honor, my sister Jess, was with me, and we continued to get ready.

“Where’s Mom?” Jess asked. “Shouldn’t she be getting dressed with us?”

“No, we decided it would be best for her and Dad to meet us at the venue. You know she doesn’t get along with Rasmus.”

Jess shook her head.

“You’d think that Mom would have sorted out her feelings by now.”

It was true, my parents loved me — but they just couldn’t see Rasmus and me together.

“There’s just something off about him,” my father would say. “But we respect your wishes to marry him.”

Closer to the time, Jess called for the hotel car, and we made our way to the wedding venue.

“Where is everyone?” Jess asked, echoing my thoughts.

It was an entire wedding venue with literally not a soul in sight. There was no welcome sign for the guests, no welcome drinks, no décor, no staff, and absolutely no guests.

Not even Rasmus.

“Get Brenda on the phone,” I said, talking about my wedding planner.

I was beginning to panic. I was all dressed and ready to go. It was supposed to be my special day.

“Brenda, where is everyone?” I asked when Jess handed me the phone.

“What do you mean?” Brenda’s calm voice came through the speaker.

“I’m at my wedding venue, and there’s nobody here!” I exclaimed, the panic evident in my voice.

“Chelsea, honey,” Brenda said. “The wedding was canceled. The directive came through your email address just three days ago.”

My heart almost stopped beating.

How could I have canceled my own wedding? I went through my emails, and sure enough, there it was.

Dear Brenda,

Due to unforeseen circumstances, the wedding is off. Please notify all the guests and the vendors.

But it made no sense. It was from my corporate account — an account that my family had access to because we all worked at the family business together.

My mind raced — did Mom and Dad? Could they really…? No, they couldn’t have.

They always said that it was my life and my choices. Even if they didn’t approve of Rasmus, they wouldn’t hurt me like this.

I needed to hear it from them.

But my parents were just as shocked as I was.

“We were on a flight, honey,” my father said. “I had a business meeting, and your mother tagged along with me. We had nothing to do with it. We did get the cancellation from Brenda and just wanted to give you your space.”

“I didn’t see any email,” Jess said. “But you know how bad I am at checking my mail.”

That’s when it hit me — the only other person who would have access to my email accounts, work and personal, was Rasmus.

The same man who was supposed to be waiting for me at the other end of the aisle.

I asked Jess to take me home, ready for answers. I needed to know what was happening and how it all unfolded without my knowledge.

I walked into our little apartment, and there he was. Rasmus, sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal. He had no intention of leaving the house because he was in his sweatpants, wearing glasses, and his hair was wavy.

His usual armor of being well-dressed, contacts in, and hair swept into his signature hairstyle was all missing.

“You canceled our wedding?” I asked before he could say anything.

Rasmus didn’t even try to hide it. He had canceled the wedding because, three days ago, he realized that as much as he loved me, he wasn’t ready for marriage.

So, he panicked.

“I didn’t have the courage to tell you,” he said. “I figured that you’d think the wedding was on, and then when the slip-up happened, you would want to investigate it. I thought it would take the heat off me.”

As I stood there, my wedding day in ruins around me, I realized that my parents were right. Rasmus wasn’t the person for me. And as much as it hurt, a part of me was relieved he did it.

So, here I am, looking at my wedding dress and wondering what to do with it.

What would you have done?

The Architectural Ingenuity Of Elevated Storage In Vintage Homes

Consider entering your grandparents’ home, where every room had a story to tell and every corner possessed a relic. Of these, the oil lamp shelves placed on the walls to this day will make you feel the warmth that you used to experience while reading under them. These shelves, which were an important part of the early twentieth-century houses, were not just practical – they were a symbol of a time when the light of an oil lamp would unite family members in the evening.

Usually wooden or metallic, oil lamp shelves were commonly located in various parts of the house to ensure the light’s effectiveness. These shelves were frequently located on walls in the living room, bedrooms, and hallways. They were not randomly placed; they were strategically positioned to ensure that there was enough light for activities done in the evening such as reading, sewing or even family meetings.

The form of these shelves or niches was quite diverse, ranging from flat ledges to more complex constructions complete with guardrails to avoid lamp tip overs. In wealthier homes, these shelves may have been elaborately decorated or even incorporated into the design of the room, complete with carved-out niches and fancy trim that matched the rest of the house.

This was because oil lamps presented a fire risk due to the exposed flame. Shelves for oil lamps were therefore intended to keep the lamps stowed away from the everyday activities in the house while at the same time letting in the light. These were usually located in positions that were not easily accessible to children and not close to curtains or any other combustible material. This tactical positioning ensured that risks of fire breakouts were reduced to the barest minimum while issuing adequate light.

The existence of oil lamp shelves in old houses gives us an insight into the lifestyles and the technological advancements that were available at the time. Lighting was an important part of people’s lives before the use of gas and electric lights and this meant that the management of lighting was an important part of the daily routine and architecture. These shelves were an important part of the interior design and showed how people of that time managed to optimize the use of living spaces.

Today, oil lamp shelves in historic homes are kept for both their functionality and their historical and cultural value. In the modern homes where such shelves have been installed, they are used for storing candles, plant among other items to enhance the beauty of the house. This is because preservation measures always aim at preserving the original construction features and the material used in the construction in this case the design of the period.

Therefore, the shelves for oil lamps in old houses are not only practical furniture pieces, but they are also a symbol of the creativity of the previous generations and a link to the tangible world of the past. Such details give us ideas about the changes that were made by our ancestors and make us reflect on how these architectural landmarks should be preserved.

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