Losing my mom four years ago cracked something inside me. Her grief settled deep within me, but she made me promise to wear her wedding dress on my big day, to keep her close. I swore I would.
Then came Madison, Jake’s fiancée. She spoke in demands and treated generosity like an obligation. Three months before their wedding, I invited them to a coffee shop and gave them a ten-thousand-dollar check to help. But Madison barely acknowledged it, brushing it off as a “good start.” Then she dropped a bomb.
“I’m wearing your mom’s wedding dress,” she said, like it was her right.
I stood firm. “That dress is mine. My mom’s wish was for me to wear it.”
Madison scoffed, but then Mark, my boyfriend, showed up. He overheard everything and, in that moment, proposed. The coffee shop erupted in applause, while Madison shrieked in rage.
Later that night, Jake and I shared a quiet moment. “She crossed a line,” I said. He pulled out the check I’d given them. “I can’t take this, Chloe. You’ll need it for your wedding too.”
For once, it was just Jake and me. And that was enough.
