So, picture this—Doris, a lovely 80-year-old lady, is over the moon because her daughter, Emily, is finally marrying the man of her dreams, Oliver. The wedding’s all set at a posh venue in London, and Doris wants to give Oliver a special gift—her late husband’s antique cufflinks—before the ceremony kicks off.
But Oliver’s in a hurry, and Doris, with her dodgy knees, has to hustle to catch him. She spots him whispering to Sophie, one of the bridesmaids—his *colleague*, apparently—before they both slip off toward the loo at the back of the hall. Curious, Doris creeps closer and peeks through the slightly open door, and her heart just plummets.
“Can’t wait any longer, love,” Oliver murmurs, pulling Sophie close.
“Not now!” Sophie giggles. “If anyone finds out, our whole plan’s ruined.”
Doris freezes. *Are they… having an affair?*
“Just one more fling before I’m stuck with dull Emily,” Oliver adds, making Doris gasp.
“Patience, darling,” Sophie purrs. “A few months of marriage, then divorce—and half her fortune is ours. Millions of pounds! But you’ve got to keep it together *today*!”
Doris sees them kissing in the mirror, stomach churning. She races back to the reception, desperate to warn Emily—but her daughter’s already on stage, serenading Oliver with a love song. The guests are swooning, Oliver’s playing the doting groom, and Doris is sick with dread.
She grabs Emily later, stammering, “We need to talk—it’s about Oliver!”
But Emily brushes her off—”Later, Mum, the dance is starting!”—and Sophie swoops in, guiding her away. Doris is gutted. She can’t ruin the wedding, but she *has* to expose Oliver.
Fast-forward to Monday—Oliver and Emily drop Doris at Heathrow for her flight home. Doris waits till they leave, then hops in a cab straight back to Emily’s place. Sure enough, Sophie’s car is outside, engine still warm. Doris calls Emily, pretending her flight was canceled: “Come home, love—I feel faint!”
Emily rushes over, confused, until Doris points through the window—Oliver and Sophie, *at it* on the sofa. Emily storms in, furious—but when they round the corner, the pair are just… chatting.
“Melissa came to discuss a work project,” Oliver says smoothly, pulling out keys. “I was surprising you with a new house—paid in full. But if you don’t trust me…” He storms off, leaving Emily in tears.
Doris is livid. “He’s lying!” But Emily caves, begging Oliver’s forgiveness. Doris, heart racing, collapses—*heart attack*.
Later in hospital, Emily visits, still defending Oliver. Doris’s last straw? She calls her solicitor, cutting Emily from her will. “Not a penny for that gold-digger,” she declares.
Emily flounces out, cutting ties—until weeks later, she shows up on Doris’s doorstep, sobbing. “Mum… you were right.”
Doris hugs her tight, relieved. Oliver’s gone—but at what cost?
Bloody nightmare, eh? But at least she finally saw sense. Cheers to that.
