When Michael and I initially started dating, everything seemed like a fairy tale.
Yes, I sobbed on our first date because I was late. I raced into the restaurant, breathless and humiliated.
We finished dinner, but he didn’t call for a week. I assumed I scared him away.
Then we met at a party. I admitted I was just emotional, and to my surprise, he said he was the same.
That was six years ago. Eight months ago, Michael proposed.
But there was one issue—his brother, Jordan.
Jordan was rude, arrogant, and self-centered. At first, things seemed fine. But then, outside the restroom, he grabbed me.
“Get off me!” I yelled, pushing him away.
Then came the messages—texts, photos, disgusting words. I blocked him.
Michael agreed not to invite him to the wedding. But later, his parents refused to come without him.
On my wedding day, Jordan dumped green paint on me.
“Jordan told everyone you ran away,” Stacy gasped.
I stormed inside. “I didn’t run away! Jordan did this!”
Michael turned to his brother. “Get out.”
His parents left with Jordan.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“From now on, always,” he promised.
