My mother-in-law showed up to our wedding in white, practically stealing the spotlight. She rode with us, hovered at the registry office, adjusted my veil, and even acted like the hostess at the reception. Her toast? A backhanded comment about her “true choice” for her son.
I had enough. During a clinking-of-glasses moment, I “accidentally” splashed red wine on her dress. She rushed to the bathroom to clean up—and I quietly locked the door.
When I returned, I told guests she’d gone home. Suddenly, the wedding felt mine again. Music, laughter, joy—finally, the bride was back. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
