BROOKE.

I was three days away from walking down the aisle.
Instead I walked into a stranger’s hotel room and let him ruin the version of me my fiancé thought he was marrying.

The last night of the bachelorette trip was supposed to be harmless.

One final bar. One final round of shots paid for by the maid of honor. One final night of pretending I wasn’t already counting the hours until I became someone’s wife. The club in Miami was loud and dark and full of men who looked at the “Bride-to-Be” sash across my chest like it was a challenge. I laughed at their jokes. I danced when...