My mother-in-law turned up to our wedding in a white dress and stood right beside us at the registry officeI had to take matters into my own hands to save my big day.
I always knew my mother-in-law was a difficult woman, but even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined shed show up to my wedding in white.
The dress was practically bridallong, lacy, figure-hugging. She strode into the registry office with the air of a model on a catwalk. While guests whispered, she just smiled and said,
*”Well, its a celebration for all of us, isnt it?”*
The first warning sign came when she insisted on riding in the same car as us.
*”What, am I a stranger now?”* she huffed, sliding in beside my groom. I had to squeeze into the back seat. A perfect start, dont you think?
At the registry office, she positioned herself right beside us, as if she were the third member of our couple. In every photoher hand on my husbands shoulder, her face closer to the camera than mine. At one point, she even adjusted my veil and whispered,
*”Youre all lopsided… Let me fix it properly.”*
At the reception, she acted like the hostesscriticising the music, telling the waiters the *”salad was under-seasoned,”* and worst of all, constantly whispering to my husband. As if she needed to remind him whose son he was.
Then came the crowning momentshe stood up and raised a toast.
*”I wish you happiness. Though, if Im honest, I always thought my son would make a different choice… But since this is how it is, so be it.”*
Silence fell over the room. I smiled as best I could, but inside, I was seething.
Thats when I decidedenough. Time to end this circus.
I approached her with a glass of winepretending to *”make peace,”* clink glasses, take a photo. She leaned in slightly, and thats when I *”accidentally”* knocked my hand against hers.
Splashes of red wineright onto her pristine white dress.
*”Oh!”* she gasped, dabbing at the fabric. *”How clumsy!”*
I offered sweetly, *”Theres a mirror and tissues in the loo. Go checkmaybe itll come out.”*
She left. I followed, and once she was inside the stall, I quietly shut the door and flipped the latch from the outside.
Returning to the party, I announced calmly, *”Mums gone homeshe wasnt feeling well. Asked not to be disturbed.”*
The evening suddenly became lighter. Guests laughed again, the music played, and at last, I felt like the bridenot just a spectator at someone elses family drama.
Not a single regret. Though something tells me married life is going to be… eventful.
*Sometimes, the quietest moves are the most effectiveespecially when dealing with those who mistake kindness for weakness.*
