19 April
It still baffles me how I didnt pick up on just how obsessed Janet, my future mother-in-law, had become with my wedding dress until the evening I discovered it had disappearedand later, that it was ruined. She denied all responsibility, shrugged off my demand for repayment, but fortunately, I had a secret weapon up my sleeve, and it changed everything.
Looking back, the warning signs were obvious. For weeks, Janet would bombard me with daily texts: Found the dress yet, love? or Please dont choose something frumpy, dear. You want to look your best, not like youre off to a jumble sale. Yet, whenever I invited her dress shopping with my mum and me, shed always find a reason not to come.
Oh no, darling, crushing headache today, shed sigh, or, Im just in an absolute whirlwind at the school, cant spare a moment this weekend. Even my mum raised an eyebrow after the third wedding boutique of the day.
Odd, isnt it, all this interest from someone who never actually joins in? Mum murmured as we flicked through white lace and silk.
I shrugged out her worries, determined to focus on the wonderful, giddy task of finding the perfect dress. If nothing else, itll spare me her running commentary on my choices, wont it? I quipped.
From down the shop, I saw itthe one. An ivory A-line, delicate lace at the bodice, sweetheart neckline, and a gentle shimmer from rows of tiny beads. Slipping it on, I felt tears prick at my eyes. It fit as if it had been sewn just for me.
Mum had her hand to her mouth, eyes gleaming. Emma, this is the one, my darling.
The price tag hurta whopping £2,400, but for once, I allowed myself to splurge. Mum snapped photo after photo, and for that magical minute, I actually felt like a real bride.
That night, back home, I texted Janet: Found my dream dress! She replied within seconds and demanded, Bring it round, I need to see it up close.
Sorry, Janet, but Id rather keep it here until the wedding. Mum took some lovely photosIll send them.
Her messages turned sharp. I said I want to see the actual dress. Photos arent the same!
But I stood firm. I wasnt risking my precious dress being ferried across town on the Tube to satisfy her curiosity. Eventually, she relentedsort of.
A fortnight later, after a full day with Mum tinkering with centrepieces, I let myself into my flat, immediately noticing something off. The silence. No Bens battered trainers by the door.
Ben? I called out, voice echoing through the kitchen. Nothing.
As I went to change into my pyjamas, fear chilled me. The dress bag wasnt hanging at the back of the wardrobe where Id left it. I instantly suspected the worst.
My hands trembled as I called Ben. Did you take my wedding dress to your mums?
He hesitated. Well, yes, love, but she only wanted to
Bring it back. NOW.
Half an hour later, Ben arrived, sheepish and mumbling. I snatched the bag and unzipped itmy heart pounding.
What met my eyes was a nightmare. The dress was horribly stretched at the waist, lace was ripped, and the zipoh God! The zip was mangled and twisted.
What happened? I whispered.
What do you mean? Ben tried to play dumb.
I pointed at the damage, hands shaking. Did your mum try it on? Tell me the truth!
He stammered. I I dont know. She might have just to see.
Furious, I dialled Janet and put her on speaker. You ruined my wedding dress, Janet! Thatll be £2,400 for a replacement.
Janet let loose her signature cackle. Dont exaggerate, Emma. I know how to replace a zip! Itll be good as new.
Its NOT just the zip! I snapped, voice catching. You stretched the whole thing, tore the lace. No seamstress can salvage this. I was shaking by now, livid and on the verge of tears.
Oh, stop making a mountain out of a molehill! Janet said, cold as ever. Ben stood there, staring at his shoes, not a word of support. I could barely look at them, not with what theyd allowed to happen. I hung up and broke down, clutching the shredded dreams in my lap.
Two days later, Bens sister Rosie turned up. She looked stricken.
I saw it, EmMum squeezing herself into that dress, laughing in front of the mirror. I tried to stop herhonestly, I did. When she wouldnt listen, I took thesethought they might help you.
Rosie handed me her phone. Photos. Janet, straining in my dress, grinning, zip half up, the lace on the verge of splitting.
She has to pay for what she did, Rosie said. Use these. Its the only way.
My pulse quickened as I realised what to do. I confronted Janet again, armed with Rosies photos, and told her Id share them with the family if she didnt pay up.
Janet looked at her manicure, as breezy as ever. You wouldnt dare. Thatd make you look as bad as me.
Try me, I replied.
That night, my hands shaking, I posted the evidence on Facebook. The photos next to my ruined dress, the full story of how shed tried it on without permission and refused to take responsibility. I ended it with, A wedding dress isnt just fabricits hope, trust, and dreams. Mine are in tatters now.
By morning, chaos had erupted. Janet banged on my front door, face crimson. Take it down! she shrieked, waving her phone. Do you know the humiliation Im facing? My book club, my church grouptheyve all seen it! Youve destroyed my reputation.
You brought this on yourself, I replied, steely calm.
She turned on Ben: Tell her to take it down!
Ben hesitated, then finally piped up, Mum maybe if youd just offer to replace the dress
Replace? After what shes done? Janet screeched.
But in that moment, I saw Ben properlyhis weak-willed avoidance, his inability to ever stand up for me, his deference to his mother. I realised I deserved better.
I slid my engagement ring off and set it on the coffee table. There isnt going to be a wedding. I need a husband whos in my corner and a mother-in-law who respects boundaries. Please leaveboth of you.
As they filed out, I felt lighter than I had in months.
Mum always said to trust your instincts. I ignored mine for too long, hoping people would change or step up. This debacle taught me the true value of self-respectand that no dream wedding dress is worth sacrificing your dignity.
