Three Slaps at the Wedding Chapter 6

Three months ago, Rachel, who used to video chat with me every day, suddenly switched to text-only communication.

She said she'd broken out in ugly red spots all over her face due to allergies and didn't want me to see.

That's when I first sensed something was wrong.

I'd said I wanted to come back and find her the best doctor for treatment, but she'd refused.

Rachel and I had no secrets. We were like sisters.

Her sudden distance from me only deepened my suspicions.

Until a month later, she resumed video calls with me.

We talked like before, as if nothing had changed. Rachel was still Rachel, exactly the same.

Except her eyes held less innocence and more melancholy.

I was worried about her then.

Rachel told me she had pre-wedding anxiety and that planning the wedding was overwhelming her.

I'd offered to come home early to help plan, but Rachel had politely declined.

She said my studies were important—my priority should be getting my diploma and smoothly taking over the company.

Rachel had always been understanding.

She knew I was especially stubborn. Because I was female, some elders in the family business looked down on me, so I was eager to prove myself to everyone.

"Mia, I'll wait for you to come back and be my maid of honor."

But my thesis wasn't going smoothly. I was delayed by over two weeks before returning home.

As compensation, Rachel asked me to choose her wedding dress.

"I trust your taste completely. Wearing a dress personally selected by my best friend is my biggest dream."

Of course I was thrilled to personally select her wedding dress.

Due to Rachel's color blindness, I deliberately avoided focusing on color, instead emphasizing design.

I'd confirmed with the designer that we'd incorporated elements she loved—embroidering her favorite irises on the hem.

I'd imagined how excited she'd be when she saw the dress.

Until today, when they delivered the wrong dress.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Watching her enter in this white dress with no trace of the irises I'd designed for her—

My heart seized. I tried to stay calm.

Maybe it was just a coincidence?

But when I tested her, Rachel accurately stated the dress's color.

I ran to the bathroom and called her doctor to confirm repeatedly.

"Black-and-white color blindness—is there any possibility of cure?"

The answer was: "Absolutely none."

In that moment, my heart went cold.

I suddenly remembered a joke Rachel used to make. Back then, she'd loved time-travel novels. She couldn't understand why, after a time-traveler took over the original owner's body, the family, friends, and even lovers all naturally treated that person as the original.

I'd laughed at her overactive imagination then—it was just fiction.

She'd asked worriedly, "But what if someday someone who looked exactly like me took over my life, my identity? Would you still recognize me?"

I'd laughed. "Of course I would recognize you."

Rachel still looked worried. She'd had a sudden idea.

"If either of us notices something wrong, we'll slap the other three times. She has to say the code word. If she can't say it, then that person isn't the one we know!"

I hadn't taken it seriously then, but for that entire period, Rachel emphasized it to me almost daily.

She'd test me from time to time.

At first, I didn't believe Rachel could really be replaced. But when I slapped her the first time and she didn't say the code word—

I panicked.

After hearing my account, everyone thought it was an absurd story.

Someone couldn't help interjecting. "Maybe she forgot the code word after so much time?"

"Rachel sounds pretty scatterbrained. Maybe she just didn't react in time."

That's what I thought too.

"So I hit her a second time."

Everyone's eyes turned in unison to Rachel standing there. Her face grew paler and paler.

Rachel argued desperately. "I just didn't react in time."

I stared at her unblinkingly. "Then tell me the code word now."

"If you can say it, I'll apologize to you and let you hit me back."

Rachel looked pleadingly at Ethan.

"Don't look at Ethan. Only the two of us know this code word."

"Who knows if you're telling the truth? I don't remember making any code word pact with you at all. You might have made up this whole story to trick everyone. But my husband can prove I am who I am!"

She tugged on Ethan's sleeve. "Honey, tell her quickly—I'm Rachel!"

I believed her words. Ethan and I were the only two people who wouldn't mistake Rachel.

Ethan sighed heavily.

"She... she is Rachel. If she's not Rachel, who could she be?"

"Mia, stop this. She is Rachel."

I didn't know if he was trying to convince me or himself with these words.

Throughout the entire wedding, Ethan's state had been very wrong.

He'd been distracted the whole time, like a soulless shell.

I seriously contradicted him.

"I don't know who she is, but she's definitely not Rachel. Ethan, I know you're very clear in your heart that she's not Rachel."

The corners of Ethan's tightly pressed mouth pulled into a smile uglier than crying. He gave up and hung his head.

"You're right! She's not Rachel!"

Mr. Grant strode forward and slapped Ethan. Mrs. Grant protectively shielded her son.

"Have you lost your mind? A few words from Mia and you're brainwashed! If she's not your wife Rachel, who could she be?"

Ethan touched his face in a daze. "Right, she is Rachel."

Opinions varied wildly.

Rachel bit her lip, then suddenly looked regretful. "Mia, it seems the pressure of studying abroad really got to you. You've developed delusional disorder."

She produced a diagnostic report.

"I also have a medical report here—Mia's psychological evaluation."

It clearly stated I suffered from chronic insomnia, sleepwalking, and possibly mild depression.

"So I have reason to believe you have mental illness. I've already contacted a psychiatric hospital. They'll take you away and take good care of you."

The real Rachel would never abandon a friend.

She definitely wasn't Rachel.

Then who was she?