I was thrilled to attend my best friend Lily’s wedding. We had been inseparable since middle school, always imagining ourselves in each other’s weddings. So when she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I couldn’t wait. Lily planned a dream wedding at a vineyard in Napa Valley. Her theme was “garden elegance” — flowers, twinkling lights, pastel linens — it was magical. Uniquely, she didn’t want matching bridesmaid dresses. “Be bold,” she said, “Wear something that makes you feel amazing.” I searched long and hard and finally found a yellow dress I loved. I even sent Lily pictures, and she enthusiastically approved, joking that I looked like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. The big day was beautiful. Lily was glowing, the ceremony was perfect, and the reception in the grand ballroom was lively. Guests loved my dress and complimented me all night. Even Lily told me how amazing and confident I looked. Later in the evening, the DJ announced a surprise: a blacklight dance party. The lights changed, and everything neon began glowing — including my dress. Except under the blacklights, it didn’t look yellow anymore — it looked bright white. That’s when things unraveled. Matt, Lily’s groom, suddenly stopped the music and accused me — in front of everyone — of trying to upstage Lily. Lily backed him up and demanded I leave, saying she couldn’t believe I’d “do this” to her. I was heartbroken and confused. Only as I turned to leave and saw my glowing reflection did I realize what they meant. My yellow dress, under the UV light, now looked like a wedding gown. I tried to explain. “It’s yellow! You all saw it earlier!” But no one responded. Matt doubled down, accusing me of planning it. Humiliated, I left the venue in tears. Two other bridesmaids comforted me briefly. They believed it was a misunderstanding but agreed it was best if I left and talked to Lily later. That night, I sent Lily a heartfelt message, including screenshots of her approving the dress. I apologized and begged for a chance to explain. By morning, I was blocked. A week later, a package arrived. It was a photo of me at the wedding under the blacklight, glowing in the dress. Scrawled on the photo: “Thanks for the memories.” It crushed me. Was it really about a dress? Or had Matt been waiting for a reason to get rid of me? I may never know. But after years of loyalty and friendship, I know one thing for sure — a true friend wouldn’t throw me away over an accident