Instead of joyfully planning weddings together, my two engaged daughters were always bickering. But when I discovered my youngest daughter’s wedding dress destroyed and my stepdaughter standing over it in tears, I realized I’d completely misread the signs of what was really happening in our home.
I’m a mother of two: my biological daughter Hannah (22) and my stepdaughter Christine (23). They grew up together after my husband passed away years ago, and I’ve always tried my best to hold our blended family together.
A sad woman with her two daughters sitting at an outdoor funeral | Source: Midjourney
Last year, both girls still lived at home with me—well, mostly. They spent a good amount of time at their fiancés’ places.
Our house should have been buzzing with the excitement of two upcoming weddings. Instead, the atmosphere grew heavy every time Hannah scrolled through wedding ideas on her phone while Christine sat across from her, barely hiding her annoyance behind a forced smile.
“Look at these centerpieces, Mom!” Hannah held up her phone one evening, her blue eyes sparkling. “Aren’t they gorgeous? They’re doing this thing with floating candles and flower petals. John says it might be over budget, but I think we can make it work if we DIY some of the arrangements.”
Woman in her 20s with long, wavy black hair and blue eyes holding up a photograph during dinner in a house | Source: Midjourney
Christine grabbed her glass and headed to the kitchen. “I need a refill. Because apparently, we need to hear about every single wedding detail every single night.”
“Christine,” I warned.
“What?” She spun around. “I’m just saying, some of us are trying to eat dinner without a Pinterest board shoved in our faces.”
This was typical of Christine. She’d always turned everything into a competition with Hannah, from their grades to hobbies and even the attention I gave them after their father died.
Woman in her 20s looking annoyed in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Hannah never played along, which only seemed to frustrate Christine more.
“Christine, honey,” I called after her. “Don’t you want to show us your wedding ideas too? You mentioned that vintage theme last week.”
“What’s the point?” She leaned against the kitchen door frame. “It’s not like I can get the venue I want anyway. Every decent place is booked through next summer.”
“There are other beautiful venues,” Hannah offered softly. “I could help you look—”
Woman in her 20s holding up her phone at a dinner table frowning slightly | Source: Midjourney
“Of course you could,” Christine cut in. “Because you’re just better than me at Googling.”
I sighed. They continued bickering until I intervened. Little did I know this was only the beginning of an implosion for our family.
A few days later, Hannah bounced into the living room, practically glowing. “John and I set a date!”
Christine froze with the TV remote in the air. “What?”
“Late January!” Hannah twirled around the room. “The Winter Garden had a cancellation, and everything just fell into place perfectly. The coordinator said we got so lucky!”
A wedding venue with a winter garden theme | Source: Midjourney
I watched Christine’s face fall. She’d been engaged to Eric for eight months but struggled to secure a venue. I also suspected that Eric was hoping to have a longer engagement before their wedding.
Meanwhile, Hannah had only been engaged for two months and was well on her way to getting married first. John, too, seemed pleased to move forward with their plans.
“You can’t have a January wedding,” Christine said, throwing the remote on the couch and standing up. “That’s too soon. Can’t you wait?”
Annoyed woman in her 20s sitting on a couch looking to the side | Source: Midjourney
“But we already booked everything,” Hannah replied, her excitement deflating slightly. “The deposit’s paid and… oh! Want to see my dress? I still can’t believe I found it!”
Without waiting for an answer, Hannah pulled out her phone and showed us a photo of herself in a stunning $1,500 wedding gown.
“I bought it yesterday,” she added softly. “I’m sorry. I wanted to have a fitting with my bridesmaids and you, Mom, so we could all pick. But this one went on sale online, and I just clicked! It only needs a few alterations. Everything feels meant to be!”
Woman in her 20s holding up her phone in a living room with a bright smile | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, honey! It’s beautiful. Do you have it safe in your room?” I asked. “We can take it to the seamstress today.”
“Sure! I was thinking—”
“I need some air,” Christine snapped, storming out of the room.
Hannah sighed at the interruption and went back to her room. Christine might have been disappointed about her delayed wedding, but she didn’t have the right to make this experience miserable for everyone.
I just didn’t know how to say all this without seeming like I was taking one side.
Worried woman in her 50s sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
A week passed, and Christine avoided us completely. My texts received short replies like “busy” or “with Eric.” But a few days before Hannah’s wedding, Christine showed up for dinner. John was there too, and something felt off.
The dining room was unusually quiet. John picked at his food, avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially Christine. Even Hannah seemed to notice something was wrong.
“Everything okay, babe?” she asked John, touching his arm gently. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”
“Yeah, just… work stuff.” He pushed his chair back, his fork clattering against the plate. “Mind if I get some air? Need to clear my head.”
Worried man in his late 20s sitting at a dinner table with uneaten food | Source: Midjourney
“Do you want me to come with you?” Hannah asked.
“No!” The word came out too sharp, making us all jump. “I mean, no, thanks. I just need a minute.”
A few minutes after John left, Christine excused herself to use the bathroom. When she didn’t return for a while, I started to worry. Then, she suddenly appeared in the dining room doorway.
“Eric’s waiting outside,” she announced, her voice tight. “I’ve got to go.”
“But you just got here,” Hannah said. “Can’t he come in? We haven’t had dessert yet.”
Untouched pie on a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
“No, it’s… huh… I have to go. Sorry.” Christine turned on her heel.
Something about her tone made me follow her. I was only seconds behind, but the front door was already closed. I also noticed her coat still on the hanger, which was strange for such a cold January evening.
When I stepped outside, there was no sign of Eric’s car. Did they just drive away really fast?
My stomach dropped as realization hit. Mother’s intuition, I suppose, because I rushed back inside and headed straight for Hannah’s room. As I approached, I heard a gasp.
A hallway in a home | Source: Midjourney
I pushed open the door and froze. Hannah’s beautiful wedding dress lay on the bed, cut to pieces from the waist down. Christine stood over it, tears streaming down her face.
“I SWEAR TO GOD IT WAS NOT ME,” she said, her hands shaking. “Mom, I know how this looks, but you have to believe me. I didn’t do this.”
My mind raced, trying to make sense of the scene. But Christine’s raw emotion, her desperate plea of innocence, made me pause.
Woman in her 20s crying in a bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“Okay, if you didn’t do this, tell me what’s going on,” I whispered.
With a fresh wave of tears, Christine told me everything. The truth was, she hadn’t been angry with Hannah about having a wedding first. She’d been worried about her because of… John.
Months ago, during Hannah’s birthday barbecue, she’d seen him acting suspiciously and even caught him texting someone in our backyard.
Man in his late 20s texting in the backyard | Source: Midjourney
“He said they were just texts from his ex,” Christine explained, wiping her eyes. “When I pressed him, he broke down and admitted having doubts about the wedding and talking to his ex about it. I told him, ‘You better figure your feelings fast because if you hurt my sister, I swear to God…'”
She took a shaky breath. “I gave him a deadline to tell Hannah, or I would. Days later, he promised everything was fine, so I dropped it. I should have known better.”
I closed my eyes, shaking my head. “Yes, you should’ve said something, but I understand. You’re the eldest. You wanted to protect her,” I sighed and thought of something. “How did you end up in here?”
Woman in her 50s looking worried and sympathetic in a bedroom | Source: Midjourne
“I saw him leaving Hannah’s room when I was heading to the bathroom. He looked… guilty at getting caught and walked by me and out to the backyard. I followed and confronted him again. I asked him, ‘What did you do?’ He just kept saying everything was fine, but his hands were shaking.”
Christine twisted her fingers together. “When he wouldn’t fess up, I pretended to leave with Eric but went to check Hannah’s room instead. That’s when I found the dress.”
“Oh, God,” I said. “He must have ripped the dress apart to delay the wedding. Why not just talk to Hannah?”
Man in his late 20s ruining a wedding dress in a bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“That’s what I’m saying,” Christine sniffled. “But it’s not just that. Mom, I think he’s cheating. We need to tell her the truth.”
I nodded. “Of course. Otherwise, she’ll think you did this,” I pointed to the dress. “I bet he was counting on that, too. The gall of that man. Come on; it’s time to stop our little girl from making a mistake!”
Christine grabbed my hand and we went out.
We confronted John right there in the living room. I thought he would fight back, but he cracked almost immediately, admitting to destroying the dress to delay the wedding and banking on Hannah’s issues with Christine to cover his tracks.
Man in his late 20s looking upset standing in living room | Source: Midjourney
Hannah was devastated. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?” she sobbed when he confessed. “If you were having doubts, why didn’t you say something? Anything would have been better than this.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. “I’ll pay for the dress. I just… I couldn’t go through with it, and I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell her about the texts!” Christine demanded.
“What texts?” Hannah asked.
Confused, upset, and sad woman in her 20s standing in living room | Source: Midjourney
“Nothing, I—”
“Tell her the truth!” I screamed. Enough was enough! My baby wasn’t going to be played with anymore.
Under my harsh glare, John confessed that he’d been seeing his ex for a while now, and that’s why he was having second thoughts about the wedding.
“Get out of here,” Christine said, stepping protectively in front of Hannah. “Now! And never come back!”
An angry woman in her 20s stands in the living room pointing her finger | Source: Midjourney
I backed up the sentiment, and John scurried off like a coward. When the door closed behind him, something remarkable happened.
Christine sat next to Hannah, who was sobbing on the couch, and took her hand.
“Remember when Dad taught us to sew?” Christine asked softly after a while. “That summer we made those horrible matching sundresses?”
Hannah let out a watery chuckle. “They were so crooked. Dad said they had ‘character.'”
“Yes! Well, I actually learned how to do it properly later. Give me the dress.” Christine squeezed Hannah’s hand. “I have an idea. Let me fix this, okay? Not the wedding part, but… maybe I can save something from this mess.”
Ruined wedding dress on a bed | Source: Midjourney
“Why would you do that?” Hannah sniffled. “I thought you hated me.”
“I never hated you,” Christine said quietly. “I just… I always felt like I had to prove I belonged here. After Dad died, I was so scared of losing my place in this family. But you’re my sister, Hannah. I should have been protecting you all along instead of competing with you.”
That’s when I started blubbering.
Woman in her 50s crying from happiness in a living room | Source: Midjourney
Christine spent the following day transforming the ruined wedding gown into a stunning cocktail dress. So, when the original wedding date arrived days later, instead of a ceremony, we held a small family gathering at the venue.
Some of our relatives had traveled from across the country, so this was the perfect way to avoid wasting the money that had already been spent. Everyone was happy, including Hannah, who got to talk to her cousins and recount how we discovered John was a coward.
I was glad my daughter could smile after such a thing, and I knew that it was in part because Christine had been trying to protect her all along. Our family changed that day… for the better.
Woman in her 20s wearing a white cocktail dress smiles while talking to other people at a party venue | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” Christine said as we watched Hannah twirl in her redesigned dress, showing it off to their aunts and cousins, “will you and Hannah walk me down the aisle when it’s my turn? Both of you? I know it’s not traditional, but…”
“I’d be honored,” I said, pulling her close.
“Me too!” Hannah chimed in, joining our hug.
Woman in her 20s wearing a white cocktail dress smiles with her arms open wide for a hug at a party venue | Source: Midjourney
My Boyfriend Demanded That I Give Him My Card to Pay Our Restaurant Bill
When Lisa earns her much-deserved promotion, she wants to go out and celebrate with her boyfriend, Troy. At the restaurant, Lisa learns that Troy just wants to put on a façade and be the ‘man’—disrespecting her and her hard-earned role. But when he gives his number to a waitress, things take a turn, causing Lisa to embarrass Troy and walk out of their relationship.
It was meant to be a night of pure celebration. After six months at my new job, I had finally earned a significant promotion and was eager to share the joy with Troy, my boyfriend.
He suggested the new upscale restaurant in town, famous for its ambiance and gourmet menu.
“Let’s just get dressed and go out, Lisa,” he said. “We don’t do this very often, so let’s make the most of it.”
I had to agree; we rarely did this—we rarely decided to go out and indulge in anything.
“Fine,” I agreed. “A night out is exactly what we need.”
And I believed that we needed it. Mainly because, as much as I wanted to believe that Troy and I were supposed to last forever, I had begun to see some cracks in our relationship. Something just felt different.
I was happy in my job, but Troy wasn’t happy in his.
“I do so much, but nobody bothers to recognize me,” he said grimly one evening when he came over for salsa night.
Troy sat on the couch and dug his chips into the salsa and guacamole, complaining about work the entire evening.
It was because of his moods regarding work that I didn’t tell him anything good about my job.
“Maybe you just need to give it more time,” I said, handing him a frozen margarita. “You just started there a few months ago.”
“Lisa, please,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. Let me be.”
But when I had gotten news of this new promotion, there was no way that I was going to keep it to myself. I wanted to celebrate and be celebrated, and I hoped that Troy would want to do just that.
To my surprise, he seemed really excited about it, and he told me that he was proud of me.
“Really, babe,” he said when he came over to my apartment to pick me up. “This is a big deal, and I’m proud of you.”
The evening started beautifully. Troy showed up with a bouquet of flowers, and he sat down and waited while I got ready. Usually, he wasn’t pleased if I was still getting ready when he arrived, but this evening was different.
“Come on,” I said. “I’m ready!”
Troy put his phone away and stood up, leading the way out of my apartment to where his car was waiting for us.
We drove in silence, but for once, the silence wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, and I felt that maybe Troy was changing. That he was becoming someone who wanted to be here and be present with me.
The soft lighting and the stunning view of the city skyline from our table set a romantic backdrop for our evening. We toasted to my success, with Troy raising his glass of champagne high.
“To the most amazing woman I know,” Troy cheered, clinking his glass against mine. “And to many more successes to come.”
“To us and to the future!” I echoed, suddenly caught up in the moment.
We went through the menu and ordered our meals while Troy spoke about the shared dreams that we had—from the Bali holiday that we had been speaking about for a long time, to wanting to move in together soon.
“I just think it’s time,” Troy said. “And now that you have your promotion, it will be much easier for us.”
Everything went along well, until the waitress brought our food over. Troy kept glancing at her, hoping to catch her eye—he winked at her twice.
I didn’t want to make a scene about it—Troy did this whenever he had something to drink. He behaved as though being a flirt was second nature.
But then, as we neared the end of our meal, I noticed a change in Troy. His usual easy smile tightened when the check was brought to our table. He smiled at the waitress as she stepped aside.
“You should let me pay with your card,” he said, a strain of insistence in his voice.
I was surprised. On the one hand, I didn’t mind paying for the dinner because it was my promotion and I was making a lot more money than I had before. But at the same time, I had also hoped that Troy would want to spoil me for the night.
“Why can’t you use your own card?” I asked, surprised by the frown on his face.
Troy’s irritation was barely concealed.
“Clearly because you’re the one who got promoted, and I don’t have enough money for these fancy dinners, Lisa! You know that, and yet you act like you don’t.”
I was confused by his logic.
“I’ll just pay with my card,” I said, putting my handbag on the table. “It’s not a big deal.”
My boyfriend’s face hardened as he took a sip of his whiskey—he had switched from champagne halfway through the meal.
“It’s embarrassing, Lisa,” he said. “It’s like you’re actually trying to humiliate me by not letting me be the man who pays.”
I didn’t know how to react to Troy’s words. It didn’t make sense to me. And I couldn’t understand what the waitress had to do with who was paying for our meal.
I would have retaliated and stood up for myself, but I could feel my energy being drained by Troy.
I felt cornered. And because I wanted to avoid making a scene, I reluctantly handed over my card.
Troy smirked and picked up my card, signaling for the waitress with an exaggerated flourish, presenting my card as if he were performing a grand gesture.
“I’ll be right back with the card machine,” the waitress said.
Feeling uneasy, I excused myself to the restroom. I just needed a moment to be myself. Troy did this all the time. But I thought that the evening was going well and that he was changing.
Of course, I was wrong.
Before thinking it through, I pulled my phone out and logged onto my banking app. With a few swipes and clicks, I had blocked my card.
Let’s see him pay now, I thought to myself.
On my way back, I paused near the bar, my attention caught by Troy’s laughter from across the room.
He was flirting openly with the waitress, scribbling something onto a napkin—presumably his phone number.
He handed it to her with a wink. I was stunned. I was hurt. A rush of indignation surged through me.
I returned to the table as the waitress spoke.
“I’m sorry, but there seems to be a problem,” she said. “Your card was declined.”
Troy’s confident façade crumbled as he stammered, turning away.
“What?” he asked. “Surely that can’t be right.”
Feigning concern, I suggested that Troy call the bank.
He sat back in his chair and pulled out his phone, dialing the bank and putting the call on speaker.
The representative asked for the card number, which Troy read off my card, followed by a request for the account password.
Finally, Troy hesitated. He was at a loss.
“Okay, Sir,” the person said through the phone. “If you can verify the last three transactions, it would help.”
The waitress hopped from one foot to the other.
“I can answer that,” I said. “A lavender-scented candle, some skincare products, and a new book. And Sir, the name on the card is Lisa Simmons.”
The waitress’s expression cleared with understanding, and Troy was left floundering for a response.
I then pulled out another card and paid the bill myself.
“Lucky I have two cards,” I told Troy and the waitress. “But babe, since you enjoyed the service, I think you can get the tip.”
Troy, red-faced, scrambled through his wallet, pulling out only expired coupons and a few small bills.
I stood up, waiting for Troy to say something—anything, but he sat there tight-lipped.
“Hey, I didn’t take his number,” the waitress said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I just threw the napkin away.”
“I’ll find my own way home,” I told Troy as I walked out into the night.
As I walked outside, I didn’t know if I had made a mistake. But at the end of the day, no relationship should make a person second guess themselves or make them feel like celebrating themselves is wrong.
Which is something that Troy did all the time.
I think I’m finally done with him.
What would you do?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one |
When Kyra discovers, by accident, that her boyfriend, Henry, has been cheating on her, she goes completely numb. Until he sends her an invoice for everything that he had ever spent on her. Fueled by her anger, Kyra fights back, exposing Henry for who he is and asking for her monetary rewards in return.
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