I thought I would cry. There I was perched prettily on a podium in a gorgeous champagne wedding dress and mantilla veil. My mom and three sisters beamed up at me in between their sips of bubbly, awaiting my enthusiastic proclamation that this dress was, much like my fiancé, The One.

A soft violin rendition of an inspirational song slowly crescendoed through the speakers, and it all felt like signs that this was the gown I’d say “I do” in. I stared at myself in the mirror almost blankly, tilted my head, and asked my family, “Really? This is beautiful but is it me ?” I tried to find the words to explain to my heart-eyed audience that there were no butterflies, no fireworks, no cinematic overture, no little voice spelling out yes.

I waited, hoping the rush that was supposed to sweep me away was a little off schedule. But...nothing. Isn't this the part where I’m supposed to burst into tears? I couldn’t rationalize how all of the frenzy and booked appointments came down to this level of underwhelm.…