After over twenty years as a priest, I thought I had witnessed it all — fainting bridesmaids, grooms forgetting their vows, even family squabbles during the ceremony. But that Sunday proved me wrong.
The wedding seemed typical at first: a cheerful groom, a church adorned with gorgeous flowers, and guests dressed to the nines.
When the bride walked down the aisle, her steps were graceful, but her stiff smile felt unusual. At first, I assumed it was just nerves, or excitement, but my instincts whispered that something was wrong. Rather than looking at her fiancé, she kept glancing at me, her eyes silently asking for help.
As the ceremony began, I requested the vows. The groom handed his immediately, but the bride hesitated. Finally, she passed me a folded piece of paper. As I unfolded it, I froze. Between the lines of her carefully written promises were repeated words: “Please help me.”
The bride was shaking, barely able to breathe, yet her eyes were full of hope.
I knew I couldn’t continue with the wedding. When it came time to ask if anyone objected to the union, no one spoke—but I did. “Well, since no one else objects, I do.”
The church fell silent.
I gently guided the bride to the office while asking the guests to remain calm. Through tears, she revealed the truth: the marriage had been arranged by her parents, and she barely knew the man she was about to marry.
I returned to the congregation and announced, “This wedding is canceled. Everyone may go home.”
With the support of a local advocacy group, Leslie—the bride—found safety and began a new life. Weeks later, the church received a small bouquet of white lilies with a note: “Thank you for seeing me.”
That day remains etched in my memory. Weddings are often filled with joy and love, but sometimes, they are moments to protect, to have courage, and to help someone find the voice they can’t yet speak aloud.
