### **The Mother of the Bride Spots Groom Sneaking Off with Bridesmaid**
Margaret, 78, was overjoyed for her daughter’s big day. She’d even brought a special gift—her late husband’s antique silver cufflinks—for the groom, Oliver. But when she spotted him whispering to the maid of honour, Sophie, then slipping off towards the loo together, her gut told her something was off. What she saw next sent her racing to stop the wedding.
Margaret had never been prouder than seeing her daughter Charlotte, 50, finally marrying the love of her life. But as she hobbled after Oliver on her creaky knees, she caught him murmuring to Sophie before the pair disappeared down the back corridor of the posh Surrey hotel. Curiosity piqued, she shuffled closer—only to see them duck into the gents’ together.
Heart pounding, Margaret cracked the door open a sliver and nearly keeled over at the sight.
*“I can’t wait another minute, love,”* Oliver murmured, pulling Sophie flush against him.
*“Not here, darling!”* Sophie tittered. *“If we’re caught, the whole plan’s ruined.”*
Margaret’s stomach lurched. *An affair?* She pressed herself against the wallpaper, ears burning.
*“One last fling before I’m shackled to dull old Charlotte,”* Oliver scoffed.
*“Patience, sweetheart,”* Sophie cooed. *“A few months of married life, then the divorce payout—half her estate, cash, everything. Just hold your horses till then!”*
Margaret peeked again—just in time to see them locked in a snog, reflected in the mirror.
*“No—stop—”* Sophie giggled weakly. *“We’ve got to get back!”*
*“Not till you promise you’ll pop round mine tonight,”* Oliver insisted. *“Same as always—once Charlotte’s at work.”*
That was enough. Margaret beetled back to the reception, hellbent on exposing Oliver’s gold-digging ways. But before she could reach Charlotte, the toastmaster cleared his throat.
*“Before we move to the first dance, the bride has a little surprise!”*
Up stepped Charlotte, glowing in her ivory gown. *“I know it’s a bit non-traditional,”* she said, *“but I wanted to dedicate something to the man I love.”*
The string quartet struck up, and Charlotte serenaded Oliver with a heartfelt ballad. The room burst into applause—especially Oliver, who bounded onto the stage and swept her into his arms, gazing at her like she hung the moon. Margaret’s heart ached. How could she shatter Charlotte’s happiness now?
*“What a moment!”* the toastmaster beamed. *“Now, let’s all head to the ballroom for the newlyweds’ first dance!”*
Margaret elbowed through the crowd. *“Charlotte, darling, we need to talk—”*
*“Mum, not now! Oliver’s waiting.”*
*“Please, it’s urgent—”*
But Sophie materialised, linking arms with Charlotte. *“Oliver’s getting impatient!”* she trilled, steering her away.
Helpless, Margaret watched the wedding unfold, her stomach in knots. She’d have to catch Oliver red-handed.
### **The Set-Up**
The next Monday, Oliver and Charlotte dropped Margaret at Heathrow for her flight home. Watching him fawn over her daughter turned her stomach.
*“Go check in,”* he said smoothly. *“I’ll fetch the bags.”*
The second they were out of sight, Margaret hailed a cab straight back to Charlotte’s place in Chelsea. Sophie’s flashy Mini Cooper was outside, bonnet still warm. Perfect.
She dialled Charlotte. *“Darling, my flight was cancelled—I’m outside your house and feeling frightfully faint. Can you come?”*
*“Mum! I’m busy—I’ll send Oliver.”*
*“No! I need *you.*”*
Grumbling, Charlotte agreed.
Peeking through the bay window, Margaret’s worst fears were confirmed: Oliver and Sophie sprawled on the settee, going at it like teenagers. She whipped around just as Charlotte’s taxi screeched to a halt.
*“Mum, what’s wrong?”* Charlotte rushed over.
*“Your husband. And that scheming Sophie. They’re in there—right now.”*
Charlotte paled. *“What?”*
*“I heard them at the wedding. They’re after your money—planning to divorce you once they’ve got it!”*
Charlotte stood frozen. *“But Sophie’s been so kind…”*
*“See for yourself.”*
Steeling herself, Charlotte stormed inside, Margaret on her heels. Laughter echoed from the lounge.
*“What the BLOODY HELL is this?”* Charlotte shrieked.
But the scene had changed—Oliver and Sophie sat primly on the sofa, looking bewildered.
*“Charlotte?”* Oliver blinked. *“Sophie was just helping me with a work presentation.”*
*“Liar!”* Margaret jabbed a finger. *“I saw them canoodling!”*
*“You think we’re *shagging*?”* Sophie gasped. *“Good grief!”*
Charlotte wavered. Oliver sighed, pulling out a keyring.
*“See this? Final payment on our new country house. Sophie was helping me plan a surprise for you. Now you’ve ruined it.”*
Charlotte gawped. *“You… bought us a house?”*
*“Blindfolded tour, champagne on the lawn—the lot. But if you don’t trust me, maybe I shouldn’t stay.”*
*“No! I believe you!”* She flung her arms around him.
Margaret seethed as Oliver shot her a smug look.
*“Honestly,”* Sophie sniffed, *“some people need their eyes tested.”*
Margaret’s chest flared with pain. The room spun. Sirens wailed. The next thing she knew, she was in hospital—heart attack.
Charlotte visited, tearful but firm. *“Mum, you were wrong about Oliver.”*
*“Open your eyes! He’s playing you!”*
*“Stop it!”*
Fed up, Margaret rang her solicitor. *“Mr. Whittaker? Revise my will immediately. Everything goes to the RSPCA. Charlotte gets nothing. And freeze her accounts. Yes, *today.*”*
Charlotte gasped. *“You can’t!”*
*“I won’t fund that conman’s luxury holidays.”*
*“Fine! Consider yourself childless!”* Charlotte stormed out.
### **The Reckoning**
Weeks passed. Lonely and recovering, Margaret dialled Charlotte daily—no answer. Until one evening, her doorbell rang.
There stood Charlotte, face blotchy from crying.
*“Oliver… he—”* she choked.
Margaret pulled her inside. *“Oh, darling.”*
*“You were right,”* Charlotte wept. *“He *was* using me.”*
Margaret held her tight, relief flooding through her. Better a broken heart now than a stolen fortune later.
