Once upon a time I shared an apartment with two other working women. One of them had, in her recent past, woken up to her wedding day and handled it as described in the story A Small House on Pilings. And then she changed her name and moved to California where we shared an apartment with a third friend, and explained to us why she had changed her name. It was an unforgettable tale and although I have changed names and locations and a few details, most of what happened was exactly as she described it. I am sure you can figure out the reason for her name change. Yeah. He was not amused, and yeah, he had a shotgun.
This story is included with another short story in a booklet titled Tales of Lovers and Liars.
Maybe I should mention here that the other story is Scent of Nicotiana. It, too, is based on an experience of a friend of mine who worked as an emergency room nurse.