My mom’s wedding was her chance to love again, but my Aunt Karen tried to ruin it in a bridal gown. I made sure her drama backfired in the best way. Five years ago, my dad died in a car crash, leaving me and Mom, then 35, in a quiet, broken home. She raised me with fierce love, hiding her pain. Dating wasn’t on her radar until she met Dave. One night, her nervous grin over pizza gave it away. “I’m dating someone,” she said. Dave was warm, funny, and looked at her like she was everything. Her old spark returned, and I was all in. “So, wedding soon?” I joked, beaming.
I helped plan every detail, wanting Mom’s day perfect. Family was excited, but Aunt Karen, Mom’s younger sister, sent snide texts. “Remarrying already?” and “White dress? At her age?” Karen always resented Mom’s happiness, griping about her own bad luck in love. Her messages screamed trouble, so I screenshot them. At a family lunch, she sneered, “A whole wedding? Bit much, no?” Mom brushed it off, but I saw her hurt. I geared up for Karen’s antics. The wedding was stunning—Mom shone in lace, the hall glowed with lilies. During her dance with Grandma, Karen burst in, wearing a sparkling white gown, stealing every eye.
The room hushed. Karen smirked, “White looks great on me!” Mom’s joy dimmed, and I felt sick. I hugged her, saying, “I’ve got this.” She whispered, “No drama, please.” I promised strategy, not chaos. With my boyfriend, Nick, I swapped Karen’s seat from a great table to one by the kids’ area, next to loud speakers. “She loves the spotlight,” I said. Nick chuckled. We watched Karen find her seat, her smugness fading amid crayons and sippy cups. She glared at me, then marched over. “Why’s my seat moved?” I grinned. “You wanted attention, so we made you the star.” She hesitated, knowing guests’ phones were out, and sat back down.
The kids’ songs blasted, and a toddler tossed a cracker at her. Karen winced, begging others to switch seats, but they had excuses. Soon, she stormed out, her dress snagging on a chair. The party roared on—Mom’s smile lit up, guests danced. Photos captured love, no sign of Karen’s gown. I kept her texts and snaps, ready for next time. Later, she sent a half-hearted apology, and Mom, ever kind, forgave her. But I know Karen’s true colors. That day, I protected Mom’s happiness, and I’d do it again, no regrets, just pride in standing up for love.
