As Christina is planning her wedding with her fiancé, Ryan, she gets the shock of her life when he demands that she shouldn’t wear a white dress. As their argument continues, Ryan reveals the surprising (and antiquated) reason as to why. Should Christina stay or run?

You know, I never thought something as simple as a wedding dress could spark the kind of fight that leaves you questioning your entire relationship. But two weeks before what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, everything unraveled.

Ryan and I had been together for six years and engaged for the last eight months. We met when I was 21, and he had just turned 20. It was a sweet, young love that grew steadily into what I thought was unshakeable.

In reality? Not so much…

I took on most of the wedding planning, while Ryan only chimed in now and then. He is a photographer, so the only thing he really got involved in was ideas about lighting and overall aesthetics, so I figured he just wanted the wedding photos to look cool.

But when he casually suggested that I shouldn’t wear a white dress, I didn’t think much of it at first.

“It might look boring,” he said one evening, scrolling through wedding blogs on his phone.

“What?” I asked, unsure that I heard the correct thing.

“What if you wore something bold like… red?” he asked.

Red?

It caught me off guard, but I laughed it off, thinking that it was just one of Ryan’s quirky, random ideas.

“I’ve always pictured myself in a stunning white dress,” I said. “It’s classic, and it’ll make the photos pop against the greenery at the venue. Don’t you think so?”

Ryan just shrugged.

“I just think red would suit you better.”

His tone was light, almost too light. Like somehow, he wasn’t taking it seriously or just didn’t want to.

I should have pressed him right then, but I didn’t. I mean, it was just a color, right? I assumed he was being playful, or maybe trying to surprise me with some trendy wedding ideas.

It felt harmless at the time, so I brushed it off. But I tried to imagine myself in a red wedding dress.

But over the next few weeks, that harmless suggestion started to feel like a demand.

“I’m telling you what I want, Christina,” he said. “It’s not that big a deal. Aren’t you supposed to include me in all your decisions for the wedding?”

“I… yes and no, Ryan,” I began, not sure how to speak to him without throwing my cup of coffee across the room.

“I’ve shared everything with you except my outfit. And you’ve done the same thing. You’ve only mentioned the color of your tie.”

“That’s not the same, and you know it,” he said, huffing out the door.

Two weeks before the wedding, I finally bought the dress. It was a beautiful, fitted white gown with lace detailing along the sleeves.

I was thrilled.

I couldn’t wait to see Ryan’s face when I walked down the aisle. But when I told him I’d chosen my dress, his expression shifted.

He didn’t smile.

Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table while I cut into some lamb for dinner.

“Is it white?” he demanded.

“Yes, of course it’s white!” I replied happily, mixing thyme into butter. I was still riding the high of having finally found my dress.

Ryan’s jaw tightened, and I could see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Disappointment? Frustration?

Whatever it was, it felt like a slap. My joy and excitement began to deflate quickly.

“Why would you do that, Chris?” he asked flatly.

I blinked, confused.

“Because it’s a wedding, Ryan. Brides wear white.”

He shook his head, the irritation simmering just below the surface now.

“Not all brides. I’m telling you again, Christina. You shouldn’t wear white.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of the situation. This wasn’t just about him being artistic or weird about color palettes anymore.

This was something else. There was more to this. I was sure of it.

“Why not?” I asked, sticking the lamb into the oven. With that out of the way, I could focus on what he was saying.

“What’s the big deal about wearing a white dress, Ryan?” I asked.

He let out a heavy sigh like he was getting ready for something.

A fight?

“Brides wear white to symbolize purity, do they not?” he said slowly, each word cutting deeper than the last. “But Chris, let’s face it, you’re not… pure, are you? So, you shouldn’t wear it.”

For a moment, I genuinely thought I had misheard him. I actually laughed. But when I saw his face, I sobered up immediately.

“Wait. Are you being serious?” I gasped.

He crossed his arms and looked away, his jaw clenched in that stubborn way I’d seen only a handful of times in our relationship.

“Yes, I’m serious,” he said. “It wouldn’t feel right. People will assume things.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Honestly, who was this man, and what had he done with my Ryan?

“Assume what? That I had a boyfriend before I met you? Or that I actually enjoyed living my life before you? What is this, the 1800s?”

His gaze flickered back to mine.

“It’s just tradition,” he muttered, but it was clear that the excuse felt weak, even to him. “My sister mentioned it, and I cannot get it out of my head. It is what it is.”

Anger bubbled up inside me.

“Ryan, we’ve been together for six years. We live together. We’ve been on holiday together. You’re not exactly ‘pure’ either.”

He flinched but stayed stubbornly quiet.

It was like he thought his point made perfect sense, even as the words burned between us like wildfire.

I couldn’t stop myself.

“If that’s how you feel, you should wear red, too,” I snapped.

That’s when this man did the most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen. He ran to get himself some backup.

By fetching his mother.

While he was out of the house, I ate my dinner. I couldn’t care less what Ryan and Judith were about to throw my way. Instead, I was going to eat my lamb chops and salad, hoping that the act of eating would dim my anger.

When they came back, Ryan slammed the door, letting me know that he was still in his mood.

The three of us sat in our tiny living room, me with my arms folded tightly across my chest, Ryan sulking like a child, and his mother looking just as bewildered as I was.

When he explained the situation, she gave him a look that could wither a tree.

“Ryan,” she said slowly. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. If you think Christina shouldn’t wear white, then you shouldn’t either. I didn’t raise you to have double standards like this.”

I didn’t think that Judith would be on my side. I was sure that she would have sided with him and his sister. But seeing her as bewildered as I was made me feel better.

Poor Ryan flushed with embarrassment, but it only made him dig his heels in deeper.

“It’s different for guys. That’s why you two just don’t understand.”

I could feel the last shred of my patience slipping away.

“How is it different?” I asked. “Please, explain this logic to me, Ryan.”

Judith nodded and sat back further.

But there was no logic to it. It was just insecurity and a twisted need to control a moment that should’ve been about love. His mother shook her head, disgusted.

I could see it in her eyes.

Even Judith could see that her son was ruining something special.

Ryan, however, wouldn’t back down. He was being ridiculously obstinate.

“People will judge us, Mom,” he insisted, as if the opinions of imaginary guests mattered more than the woman he claimed to love.

I felt sick.

It wasn’t just about my dress anymore. It was about what it represented. Ryan didn’t just care about appearances. He cared about control.

And worse, he cared about how others might see me more than how…