My mother-in-law wore white to my wedding and spilled red wine on my dress. Then she took scissors and cut me out of my own wedding photos! So I sent her an envelope that made her realize she was about to lose something she cared about far more than pictures.
My mother-in-law, Beverly, has never liked me, and nothing made her feelings clearer than our wedding day.
At first, I thought she was going to boycott the wedding to show her disapproval. Everyone was seated, and the ceremony was about to begin, but Beverly still hadn’t arrived.
I had just stepped forward to stand at the end of the aisle when the church doors banged open behind me.
“How could you start without me?”
I turned, and my jaw dropped.
Beverly strode toward me, wearing a white, floor-length gown with beaded sleeves. All she was missing was a bouquet and a veil.
“Well?” She stopped in front of me, hands on her hips.
She laughed.
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, honey.” She patted my cheek. “It’s just a dress. Nobody is going to confuse us.”
She walked away before I could reply.
Marching up the aisle ahead of me, it was almost impossible to tell that she wasn’t the bride.
“The nerve of her!” One of my bridesmaids snapped.
I took a long breath and chose to let it go. I could survive one day.
I walked down the aisle.
Brandon had tears in his eyes when he took my hands in his.
When we reached the vows, Beverly struck again.
“I, Brandon, take you, Sylvia, to be my wife, to have and to hold…” Brandon hesitated, frowning, as Beverly appeared at his side.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. “This is just such a big moment.”
The officiant looked at her, then at us. “Let’s give the couple some space, shall we?”
Beverly laughed.
She acted like she was just a doting mother who couldn’t bear to be an inch away from her boy. It was “adorable” to everyone else. To me, it was an invasion.
And she didn’t stop there.
Beverly approached us during the reception with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.
She was smiling, but it was the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse.
She reached out to hug Brandon, and the glass tipped. The dark red liquid splashed across my skirt. The stain spread like a wound.
There was nothing for her to trip on.
She stood perfectly balanced on her heels.
“Mom, what the heck?” Brandon snapped.
Beverly did not apologize. Instead, she clutched her chest with both hands.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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