My husband, Ryan Carbon, was entwining with another woman.

I glimpsed the two of them through the wall of pretty pink roses climbing the trellises partially concealing their indiscretion, recoiling as I recognised who was entangled with my husband.

She was the wife of Ryan's friend.

Ryan nuzzled Liza’s neck and I heard the chink of his belt buckle, followed by a giggle.

The lying, cheating prick.

How could he do that to me?

I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

I should storm out there, rip that bimbo's hair from her scalp, scratch his eyes out and throw my shiny gold band at him.

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"You screwed Lisa at the wedding, got drunk at night, didn't even know I was gone. It took you three months to come to me and apologize. You're a hypocrite. I'll never forgive you again. Just go."

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The last thing I expected to find when I rounded the corner of the beautiful white wooden summer house, which glowed ethereal in the setting sun, was my husband of seven hours and twenty-four minutes, Ryan Carbon, entwined in the arms of another woman.

I’d wanted a break from the loud music, to cool down from the sticky evening and get some fresh air.

I’d barely seen my husband since our first dance, there’d been too many people queuing up to offer their congratulations, telling me how stunning I looked in my bridal gown and how happy they were for us both.

The afternoon had morphed into the evening at such speed my head spun but not as much as it was spinning now at the sight before me.

I glimpsed the two of them through the wall of pretty pink roses climbing the trellises partially concealing their indiscretion, recoiling as I recognised who was entangled with my husband.

Ryan’s hand glided over Bobby’s wife’s olive skin, straying up her thigh and under her black dress, the other clasped around her birdlike neck. Short moans of pleasure escaped Liza’s full lips and her head lolled back, eyelids fluttering.

I froze on the manicured lawn, not wanting to be seen. The two of them blissfully unaware they had a spectator. Sounds of our wedding reception blared out from the house, guests dancing to ‘Come on Eileen’, stamping their feet on the dance floor with no idea the groom was already breaking his vows.

A painful eruption began in my chest, a volcano getting ready to blow, hitting me with a grief so profound, it swallowed me whole. My lips parted to speak, but nothing came out. I had no words nor voice for the sight before me.

Ryan nuzzled Liza’s neck and I heard the chink of his belt buckle, followed by a giggle.

Vomit forced its way up my throat and I gagged, backing away on the grass before taking off my heels and turning to flee.

Blinking rapidly, I stumbled back towards the house, trying to exorcise the scene I’d witnessed from my eyes.

A few hours ago, we’d promised to love and cherish one another, but after the photos were over, he’d hit the whisky hard.

As the whirlwind of greeting guests for the evening reception got underway, being congratulated and making small talk, I’d seen my husband fleetingly as he worked the room, a tumbler in hand.

He’d been bought drink after drink and I knew he might not even find his way to the honeymoon suite later. It didn’t matter, it was our wedding day, a celebration. Everyone was entitled to let their hair down.

Liza was my friend; she and Bobby were our friends and the betrayal sliced into my heart like a knife through butter.

‘Seen Liza, Kel?’ Bobby swayed in front of me when I reached the grand staircase, his eyes glazed.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, unable to look at him. Bobby was Liza’s husband as well as being Ryan’s best friend and business partner. They’d only been married a year, yet his world had been blown apart in the past few minutes too and he didn’t even know it.

‘No, not for a while,’ I managed.

‘Ah well, she must be around somewhere,’ he turned in a full circle, arms outstretched, his sweat patches on display and worryingly unsteady on his feet. ‘You make a beautiful bride, Kel,’ he added, grabbing my hand and pecking it, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, showcasing his dimples. His curly mop of brown hair fell into his eyes.

‘Thanks, Bob,’ I replied, the onset of tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I slid my hand out of his damp palm and took the stairs as quickly as I could manage in my heavy ivory gown.

By the time I reached the honeymoon suite, my throat was thick with misery and I fumbled for the key in the satin bag hanging from my wrist.

The tears came even before I had a chance to close the door to the room. Our enormous four-poster bed with crisp white sheets covered in red rose petals made me sob harder.

Was it a one-off?

Had Ryan got so drunk he’d made a pass at Liza or had they both been lying to me and Bobby for months?

I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands.

Life as I knew it crumbled around me.

Ryan and I owned a house together in Crawley a few miles away, he ran a business with Bobby, what was he thinking?

The lying, cheating prick.

How could he do that to me?

I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. I should storm out there, rip that bimbo’s hair from her scalp, scratch his eyes out and throw my shiny gold band at him, but it wasn’t me.

I hated confrontation, I needed to think and space to do so, but how was I going to escape my own wedding reception?

I looked around the grand bedroom for inspiration, glancing over at my pink suitcase, packed and ready for our flight to Crete. The honeymoon I’d been dreaming of, but now Ryan had ruined everything.

Ryan’s backpack had been left beside his suitcase and I riffled through it, digging out our passports, printed tickets and euros.

In a moment of inspiration, I shoved Ryan’s passport beneath the mattress of the bed, as close to the middle as I could reach, and put the rest of the items in my bag.

Finally I rolled up the layers of white satin, torn lace and netting and hid my wedding dress in the empty wardrobe.

Checking I had everything I needed, I dialled the taxi company.

‘Hi, I already have a pick-up booked for three forty-five tomorrow morning for Kelly Carbon, but my plans are changing. Do you have a car available now to take me from Gravetye Manor to Gatwick, North Terminal please?’