I hardly gave it a second thought when my soon-to-be mother-in-law kept pestering me about my wedding dress, at least not until I came home and realised in the strangest haze that my £2,400 gown had vanished! Without warning, the world in my flat felt both unearthly and unnaturally still. Shed tried it on, ruined it, and then refused to pay. Consumed by rage and desperation, I confronted her at last with a secret weapon I had not known I possessed, one that would turn every expectation upside-down.
I suppose, looking back, I should have sensed something amiss when Judith, my fiancés mother, couldnt stop bringing up my dress in her sing-song voice that echoed oddly in my dreams.
She texted nearly every day for weeks: Have you found a wedding dress yet? and Do pick something lovely, dear. You dont want to look like a crumpled napkin.
And still, each time I invited her to join me shopping in London, she ducked out: Sorry, darling, Ive got a dreadful headache. Or: Oh, terribly busy this weekend, you know how it is.
Mum noticed, too. Strange how invested she is for someone who wont bother to come and look, she said as we wandered through a labyrinth of our third bridal shop that afternoon, sunlight blurring reality outside.
I just shrugged, trying to focus on the delighted tremor of seeking the perfect dress, the one that would make time swirl and stop.
I dont get it either. Still, at least I dont have to listen to her running commentary on my taste, eh?
Drifting further along rails of silk and lace, I glanced toward the back and then there it was: an ivory A-line gown, ethereal glimmers of beading catching the shop lights, delicate English lace clinging to a sweetheart neckline.
As I slipped it on, the world shifted; I was lifted outside of myself, swelling gracefully into the dress as it fell in soft, shimmering folds to the floor. It was everything Id dared dream, and more.
Oh, love, my mother whispered, tears glinting in her eyes as if shed been caught in the rain. Thats the one.
The price tag read £2,400, well over my original budget but some things, even in dreams, have their own rules.
As Mum snapped photos from every surreal angle, I felt like a proper bride. The sensation of everything falling quietly into place left me giddy with contentment.
That evening, back home, I texted Judith: Id at last found my dress. She replied almost instantly, a demanding staccato: Bring it over, I must see it.
Sorry, Judith, I said. Im keeping it safe here till the big day. Mums got plenty of photos I can send.
No! I dont want pictures! she wrote back without a seconds pause. Bring the dress!
Again I refused, this time more firmly unwilling to risk my beautiful, impossibly expensive prize. Eventually, her messages slowed, as if she realised my resolve.
Weeks passed, and I spent a Saturday at Mums in Cambridge, cutting bunting and planning table settings in the washed-out light of English spring.
When I returned at dusk, the air in my flat felt too weightless, and Toms brogues werent by the door, not where they always waited patiently.
Tom? I called, letting my keys tumble onto the kitchen counter. Only silence pressed in around me.
Heading for the bedroom, the edges of the dream sharpened, then slipped: my wedding dress was gone. Not hanging on the wardrobe door where I left it, but a ghost, vanished into curtain-grey air.
My hands began to shake as I dialled Toms number.
Hello, sweetheart, he said, frail and uncertain, like his voice came from a radio underwater.
You took my dress to your mothers, didnt you? I spat, cold panic worming into my bones.
She just wanted to see it, and you were out, so
I cut him off. Bring it back. Right now.
Thirty minutes later, Tom slunk through the door, a cardboard smile on his lips failing to hide the guilt radiating from his eyes. My stomach knotted as I grabbed the dress bag and unzipped it, afraid of what Id find at the end of this corridor of unreality.
The gown inside was stretched, the fine lace rent in places. The zip hung wonky, broken teeth winking up at me in the ceiling light like something monstrous from a dream.
What have you done? My voice emerged thin and stunned.
What do you mean? he answered dumbly, as if the significance of my horror lived in another world.
This! I pointed wildly at the ruined fabric and broken fastenings. Tears threatened to spill as I realised the scale of everything I had lost. My wedding dress is ruined!
Its not that bad. Maybe it was badly made, and it tore when Mum opened the bag?
Dont be absurd! I snapped, ice splintering my words. The only way this happens is if oh my God, she tried it on, didnt she?
Uh
How could you, Tom? My outrage was wild and echoing, spilling from me. I snatched up my phone and rang Judith, jabbing the speaker on for full effect.
You ruined my wedding dress! The zip destroyed, lace torn, the fabric all stretched out you and Tom owe me £2,400 to replace it.
Toms jaw dropped. Surely you cant be serious.
And Judith? She actually laughed high and sweet, like glass wind chimes in a squall.
Oh, dont be dramatic! Ill replace the zip; I know exactly how, and youd never know the difference.
No, you wouldnt, I replied, my voice fraying. A new zip wont fix the rest. I need a new dress, Judith. You knew you shouldnt have tried it on. You have to make it right.
Youre making a mountain out of a molehill, she muttered, terse.
I looked at Tom, hoping for support, but he only stared at the worn carpet, mute.
That was the moment something inside me broke. Retreating to the bedroom, I curled around the shreds of silk and lace, crying until I could breathe again.
Two days ticked by in a strange, frantic whirl. Then Toms sister, Alice, appeared at the door, contrite and grim-faced.
I was there, she said, skipping any greeting. I tried to stop Mum from squeezing herself into your dress, but you know what shes like. Im so sorry.
I showed her inside, and she dug out her phone. I realised I couldnt physically stop her but I could do something else. Here with this, Mum will have to pay.
On her screen, reality twisted: Judith, awkwardly crammed into my gown, laughing for the mirror, the fine material straining for dear life, the zip halfway up and threatening insurrection.
She must pay for what shes done, Alice said, softly intense. These photos are your leverage.
She laid out her plan, her words tumbling through the room like confetti. With Alices evidence, I confronted Judith and said Id share the photos unless she covered the £2,400.
You wouldnt dare, Judith sniffed, inspecting her pristine nails. Think of what that would do to our familys name.
I caught her gaze, surveyed her neat bob and pearls, her immaculate English-country-house image. Try me.
That night, hands trembling, I crafted the post on Facebook.
I uploaded Alices pictures, side-by-side with the now-tatty dress. And I wrote about Judith how my future mother-in-law had worn my wedding dress without permission, torn it, then refused repair or replacement.
A wedding dress, I typed, stands for more than a bit of fabric. It is memories, dreams, and trust all as fragile as lace, and all destroyed with my gown.
When dawn unspooled, Judith erupted into the flat without knocking, her face blazing red, nearly phosphorescent with fury.
Take it down! Take it down now! she shrieked, brandishing her phone. Do you know what people are saying? Im being humiliated! All the ladies from the WI, the parish group everyones seen it!
You brought this on yourself, Judith, when you decided my dress was a party costume, I answered, feeling strangely weightless.
Tom! she howled. Tell her to delete it!
Toms face turned milky white. Mum, maybe if you just offered a replacement dress
Replace it? After what shes done? Never! Judiths voice reached a pitch that made the air shudder.
I looked at Tom really looked, the way one stares into a fog with the uneasy feeling theyll see what they most dread. How he ran from confrontation, how he let Judith steamroll through our lives, how quick he was to sell out my trust.
Youre right, Judith, I murmured, voice low and final. The dress neednt be replaced.
I slid my engagement ring from my finger and set it gently on the coffee table. Because there isnt going to be a wedding. I deserve someone who stands up for me, and a mother-in-law who respects my boundaries.
The silence that followed was almost electric, humming at the edges of the dream. Judiths lips worked silently, fish-like. Tom tried to speak, but I stood by the door and opened it wide.
Please leave. Both of you.
As they departed, dissolving into the mist of the morning, I felt lighter than I had in months as if Id finally woken up.
