Change can come in many forms into your life. It might come forcefully like a tidal wave, or slowly creep along like a glacier.

It might come in the form of devastating tragedy, a difficult choice, a broken relationship, a new opportunity, or as a text message.

I stood at the front of the room in my wedding dress and looked out at the excited faces of our friends and family. My hands were shaking.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, instead, I knew it was the end of my dream relationship and everyone was going to witness it.

Alex and I had been together for six years. I felt he was ‘The One’ instantly. Our families became friends, our lives were entwined, and I believed we would live happily ever after.

On the last night of my unwed life, I was with hanging out my best friends in a glitzy hotel room. My phone buzzed from across the room.

The message was a series of screenshots from a number I did not recognise. The screenshots were of conversations between Alex and another woman.

Loads of them, including selfies. The texts were dated from months to only days before. My brain simply could not compute WTF was going on.

Your body is fucking incredible. And shit do you know how to use it. I wish my GF had half the skills you do.

I miss you so much. I can not stop thinking about L, S, F’ing you. I yave never had this kind of connection before.

My wedding was only hours away. I burst into shamed and broken tears. I was too shocked and sad to be angry. I did not call Alex. I loved Alex.

I wanted to marry Alex tomorrow. I was going to go ahead with the wedding as expected, and ‘Out’ him in front of our friends and family.

I walked down the aisle, my dream dress now just a costume. I arrived at the front of the room, took a big breath and I faced our friends, our parents and I told them the truth about Alex.

I read every single message she sent me. I let my weeping eyes rise and meet his, and he had not one thing to say.

Alex walked out of the church, straight into the next bar, had a drink, had another drink and had a third and final drink. Three was his lucky number.

He walked home, packed his backpack and left for the adventure of his life. He came back three years later, knocked at my door, said ‘I am sorry’ and left.