Some weddings are remembered for flowers or vows. Ours will always be remembered for who wasn’t there—and why.
Kael’s mother, Seraphine, tried to control everything: the guest list, colors, menu, even demanding a “grand entrance” at my bridal shower. But the final straw came when she insisted on spending the night before the wedding with Kael in the bridal suite. I refused, knowing it was meant for me and my bridesmaids.
The night before, after our rehearsal dinner, I opened the suite door to find my wedding dress shredded—lace and silk torn apart. Moments later, a text from Seraphine appeared: “Now maybe he’ll see who really matters.”
Kael called her immediately. For once, he didn’t waver: “You’re banned from the wedding.”
My aunt saved the day, bringing a gown from her old bridal shop. It wasn’t the one I chose, but it became more meaningful.
When I walked down the aisle, Seraphine’s chair sat empty, and I felt nothing but peace. She thought she’d ruined us, but she only gave us clarity: love isn’t about control—it’s about choosing each other, no matter who tries to stand in the way.
