Fairy tales

I believe in fairy tales. I always have. As a little girl, I devoured every Disney Princess story. In my youth, I pictured my wedding—a pristine white floor-length gown, a lace veil that went on for miles, and Prince Charming at the altar, eyes glistening with joy. It was no surprise that as an adult when Matthew walked into my life, shrouded in red flags I disguised as mystery, I was immediately taken by him. Most of my friends had gotten hitched to their high school and college sweethearts, but I was holding out for the one who would sweep me off my feet. And Matthew turned my whole existence on its head.

It was one of the happiest days of my life. A gorgeous resort by the beach, what looked like a hundred red roses laid out to spell my name, the whispers of the sea’s waves crashing in the distance breaking the still silence of the night, the air thick with the scent of salt, and hope. I wore the red dress he liked, a sweeping, fishtail number that hugged all the insecurities he called “curves.” He said it was the most flattering look he had ever seen. We walked up to the little canopy by the pool where everything was laid out, hand in hand, palms slightly clammy. I had a feeling the proposal was coming for weeks. It was nice to know my gut instincts were still intact.

When he got down on one knee, it was an out-of-body experience. I watched myself watching him, studying his look of longing and the slight shaking in his hands. This long-awaited moment, this fantasy I had built up in my head, was finally happening.

I couldn’t tell you much of what he said, but I’ll always remember the bright, blazing beams of light that flashed brilliantly at the exact moment he popped the question. At first, I thought it was part of the show—pyrotechnics to add to the ambience of this auspicious moment. Then, I saw flames, burning auburn red, out of the corner of my eye. Then everything went loud and black.

“Freeze!”

“Hands where we can see them!”

“John Adams, you are under arrest for the murders of Tanya Adams, Grace Kent, and Lucy Freeman.”

I didn’t hear much after that.

My fuzzy brain couldn’t even make out coherent sentences amidst the complete chaos that was “Matthew’s” arrest. Still disoriented by the flash grenades, I picked up “murder in the first degree,” “first wife and two previous girlfriends,” “...professional conman,” and “...killed them and took their money” from the officer who stared blankly at us, relaying a list of crimes longer than my love life.

As they put the cuffs on him and led him away, all I could think about was how much I loved this man. Whoever he was. Belle had her Beast, Ariel got her voice and her prince, true love’s kiss saved Snow White. Our love, too, would just have to look a little different. I believe in fairy tales.