Everything was perfect at my wedding until I noticed my Mom was missing. Moments later, she burst in, disheveled and furious, pointing a trembling finger. We were stunned to learn she’d been locked in a closet by someone close for reasons we could never have imagined.
My whole family was buzzing with excitement about my wedding to Fabian, my longtime boyfriend. But the person floating on cloud nine was my mom, Adele. As an only child, I’d always been close to both my parents, but Mom and I shared a special bond. She’d dreamed of this day for years…
Wedding preparations | Source: Pexels
We’d spent countless hours planning every detail together. Choosing our outfits felt like a fashion show, cake tasting turned into a sugar-fueled adventure, and when we picked the song for the Father-Daughter dance, we both ended up in tears.
“Oh, Bella,” Mom had said, wiping her eyes as I tried on the wedding gown. “I can’t believe my little girl is all grown up and getting married.”
I hugged her tight. “I’ll always be your little girl, Mom.”
A young woman in a bridal dress sharing an emotional moment with her mother | Source: Pexels
On the big day, everything seemed perfect. I stood at the back of the church, my heart racing as Dad took my arm.
“Ready, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with love.
I nodded, too choked up to speak. The doors swung open, and we began our walk down the aisle. I locked eyes with Fabian, his smile brighter than the sun. But as we neared the altar, my stomach dropped. Something was terribly wrong.
I scanned the sea of faces, panic rising in my chest. MOM WASN’T THERE.
An extremely shocked bride | Source: Midjourney
“Dad,” I whispered urgently, “where’s Mom?”
His brow furrowed as he looked around. “I… I don’t know. I thought she was here.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, the music screeching to a halt. All eyes turned to me.
“We can’t start,” I said, my voice shaking. “Mom’s missing.”
A startled bride covering her mouth | Source: Midjourney
Fabian rushed to my side, concern etched on his face. “Bella, what’s wrong?”
“My Mom,” I choked out. “She’s not here. We need to find her.”
I turned to my brothers in the front row. “Can you guys look for her? Please?”
They nodded, jumping up and rushing out of the church. Fabian squeezed my hand. “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably just got held up somewhere.”
A bride and groom holding hands | Source: Unsplash
But as the minutes ticked by, dread settled in my stomach. This wasn’t like Mom at all. She wouldn’t miss my wedding for the world.
Guests shifted uncomfortably, whispering amongst themselves. I paced back and forth, my wedding dress swishing with each step.
“Maybe we should call the police,” I said, wringing my hands.
Grayscale close-up shot of a woman’s teary eyes | Source: Pexels
Fabian put his arm around me. “Let’s give your Dad and brothers a little more time. I’m sure they’ll find her.”
But as an hour crawled by, I felt anything but sure. The church was filled with hushed conversations and worried glances.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I muttered to Fabian. “What if something terrible happened to her?”
He pulled me close. “Try not to think like that. We’ll find her, I promise.”
Grayscale rear view of a bride | Source: Unsplash
Just when I was about to insist on calling the authorities, the church doors burst open. Mom stumbled in, followed by Dad and my brothers. Her perfectly styled hair was a mess, her makeup smeared, and her golden dress wrinkled.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing towards her. “What happened? Where were you?”
But before she could answer, her eyes locked on someone in the front row. Her face contorted with rage.
“YOU!” she screamed, pointing a shaking finger.
An angry senior woman pointing her finger | Source: Midjourney
I followed her gaze, shocked to see my soon-to-be mother-in-law, Grace, shrinking in her seat.
“Mom, what’s going on?” I asked, my heart pounding.
She whirled to face me, her eyes blazing. “Your mother-in-law LOCKED ME in the closet! Can you believe that? Just because I wore an expensive golden dress.”
The church erupted into shocked gasps and furious whispers. I felt like I was in some bizarre dream.
Close-up side view of a casual older woman | Source: Pexels
“What? That’s crazy,” I sputtered, looking between Mom and Grace.
Grace jumped to her feet, her face pale. “This is ridiculous! I would never—”
“Oh, save it!” Mom snapped, rolling her eyes. “I overheard you telling your sister that you had to be the only one in gold! This isn’t the first time you’ve been jealous, but it’s the first time you’ve done something so horrible because of it.”
Fabian stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Mom, is this true? Did you lock Mrs. Jacobs in the closet?”
A furious senior woman turning to her side and pointing her finger at someone | Source: Midjourney
Grace’s composure crumbled. She wrung her hands, her voice shaky. “I just… I thought… she was trying to outshine me!”
Fabian’s face darkened with anger. “Mom, this is Bella’s wedding day, not yours! How could you do something so petty and cruel? You need to leave. Now.”
“But…” Grace stammered, “I just made a small mistake! I couldn’t stand seeing her get all the attention in that dress.”
“No buts,” Fabian growled. “You’ve ruined enough of this day. Leave.”
Close-up of a man in a black and teal tuxedo | Source: Pexels
Grace’s face twisted into a scowl. “Fine! You’ll regret this!” She snatched up her purse and stormed out, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
For a moment, no one moved. Then Dad cleared his throat. “Alright, everyone. Let’s get back to celebrating this wonderful couple!”
Slowly, the tension eased. Fabian turned to me, his eyes filled with remorse. “Bella, I’m so sorry. I had no idea my mother would do something so awful like this.”
Portrait of an older woman smirking | Source: Pexels
I squeezed his hand. “It’s not your fault. Let’s just focus on us now, okay?”
He nodded, a small smile returning to his face. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered.
As we retook our places at the altar, I caught Mom’s eye. She gave me a reassuring nod and relief flooded through me. We were going to get through this.
Rear view of a bride and groom seated in front of the altar | Source: Pexels
The ceremony resumed, and despite the earlier drama, I felt a surge of joy as Fabian and I exchanged our vows. When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, the church erupted in cheers.
As we walked back down the aisle, now as husband and wife, I leaned close to Fabian. “Well, that wasn’t quite how I imagined our wedding going.”
He chuckled softly. “Me neither. But hey, at least it’ll be a wedding no one forgets, right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s one way to look at it.”
A newlywed couple holding hands and walking together | Source: Unsplash
The reception was in full swing, the earlier chaos all but forgotten as guests danced and laughed. I found myself by the punch bowl, finally able to breathe.
“Some wedding, huh?” a voice said beside me. I turned to see Aunt Wima, shaking her head. “I can’t believe Grace did that. What a nightmare of a mother-in-law.”
“I know,” I sighed. “It’s still hard to process.”
Another guest chimed in. “I’m glad Fabian stood up to her. Shows what kind of man he is.”
People dancing at a wedding reception | Source: Pexels
I smiled, spotting Fabian across the room. He caught my eye and winked, making my heart flutter.
“Speaking of nightmares,” Aunt Wilma continued, “where is your Mom? Poor thing must be traumatized.”
I scanned the room, realizing I hadn’t seen her in a while. “I should go check on her.”
A smiling bride holding a bouquet | Source: Unsplash
I found Mom sitting alone on a bench in the garden, staring at the stars. She looked up as I approached, a sad smile on her face.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly.
I sat down beside her, taking her hand. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Mom.”
She squeezed my fingers. “It’s alright, sweetheart. The important thing is that you’re happy and married to a wonderful man.”
A bride smiling with her eyes closed | Source: Midjourney
I felt tears prick my eyes. “But it’s not alright. This was supposed to be perfect, and instead…”
“Hey,” Mom said, turning to face me. “Life isn’t perfect, Bella. But it’s how we handle the imperfections that matter. And you? You handled today beautifully.”
I leaned my head on her shoulder, feeling like a little girl again. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetie,” she whispered, kissing the top of my head.
A smiling senior woman in a shimmery golden dress | Source: Midjourney
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again. “Now, enough moping. It’s your wedding day! Let’s go dance.”
Back inside, the party was in full swing. Fabian swept me onto the dance floor, pulling me close.
“Everything okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.
I nodded, smiling up at him. “Better than okay. I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”
A bride smiling | Source: Unsplash
His brow furrowed. “Lucky? After everything that happened today?”
“Absolutely,” I said firmly. “Because at the end of it all, I’m married to you. And that’s all that matters.”
Fabian’s face softened, his eyes shining with love. “I promise, Bella, I’ll always protect you and stand by your side. No matter what.”
I reached up, touching his cheek. “I know. And that’s why I love you.”
Grayscale shot of a bride and groom embracing each other | Source: Unsplash
As we swayed to the music, I caught sight of Mom and Dad dancing nearby. Mom winked at me, and I felt a rush of gratitude. Despite everything, we were all here, together.
The evening ended with laughter, dancing, and a sense of relief that the worst was behind us.
As Fabian and I said our goodbyes, heading off to start our new life together, a thrill ran through me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, we’d face them together, surrounded by the love of our family and friends.
A newlywed couple dancing | Source: Unsplash
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Demanding Parents Expect Nanny to Pay $1000 for Vacation Flights – Their Harsh Reality Check
ane’s employers plan a luxurious holiday away, tagging her along to look after their children. While they promised that they would take care of all the expenses, it is only when they return home that they demand that Jane play her part and pay for her plane tickets. But Jane won’t give up that easily.
“Jane, can you come into the living room?” Mrs. Smith called out, her teaspoon clinking as she stirred sugar into the cup of tea Melanie, the helper, had just given her.
I was tidying up the playroom.
“Now, please,” she added.
Her tone was sweet, but something felt off. I walked into the living room, trying to keep my nerves at bay.
“Sure, Mrs. Smith. What’s up?” I replied, wiping the disinfectant onto my jeans.
She was sitting on the couch, perfectly poised as always. Not even a strand of hair out of place. Mr. Smith was seated beside her, his phone in his hand. He gave me a tight smile.
“Jane, we need to talk about the vacation.”
I nodded, curious.
We had been home for two days now. Back from our trip to the seaside, staying in a luxurious resort. It was almost the break I needed, minus the fact that I had the Smiths’ three children, and their friends, the Johnsons’ two sons to care for as well.
I was just doing my job in a fancier location.
“Of course,” I said. “It was a lovely trip. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“Yes, well,” Mrs. Smith started. “We need to discuss the plane tickets. When will you be able to return the $1000?”
I blinked. I was sure that I had misheard her.
“Sorry, $1000? For the tickets? What?”
“Yes, for the tickets, Jane,” she spoke slowly as if I was stupid. “We spent a lot on them, and we thought you’d be grateful enough to pay us back.”
My heart raced. I didn’t have that kind of money to spare. I was their full-time nanny, with a mother to care for at home.
“But you told me that everything was sorted. You said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Jane. We’ve got it all covered.’”
Mrs. Smith’s expression hardened. Mr. Smith gazed at me.
“That was before the Johnsons refused to sign a business deal with Craig. That was the entire purpose of the holiday. Mr. Smith and I needed to woo them. So, there’s no need to seem generous now, Jane. You have exactly one week to return the money, or it will be taken from your pay.”
I was stunned. The room felt like it was spinning.
“But… I can’t afford that, Mrs. Smith,” I admitted. “Most of my salary goes to the rent at home and my mother’s medication. I can’t take that away from her. And you didn’t mention anything about paying you back!”
“That’s not our problem, Jane. One week,” Mr. Smith reiterated, reaching for a croissant from the tea tray left for Mrs. Smith. With a wave of his hand, he signaled the end of the discussion.
That night, I sat in my tiny room a few feet away from the Smiths’ house. I was seething. How could they do this? I needed a plan, and I needed it fast.
Then it hit me: the Smiths cared deeply about their social standing and their reputation.
“Of course, that’s all they care about,” I muttered to myself as I brushed my teeth before bed. “But I can use that to my advantage.”
The next day, after I dropped the kids off at school, I created a fake email account. I drafted a polite but detailed message about my experience, making sure to be clear without naming any names.
But there were enough telltale signs pointing to the Smiths, from their cars to the kids, to the gold facial appointments that Mrs. Smith bragged about.
Thereafter, I sent it to the key people in their social circle, including the other influential families that the Smiths wanted to be in league with.
“I just don’t understand what they want from us,” I overheard Mrs. Smith say into the phone later that day. “Eva asked me if everything is true, but I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
A few days later, the gossip started spreading. The Smiths’ dirty little secret on how they treated “their staff” was out, and naturally, their reputation took a hit.
Mrs. Smith called in a masseuse to soothe her muscles.
“Just let them into the spa when they arrive, Jane,” she said. “I need all the help I can get.”
Later that day, when I went to pick the kids up from school, the other nannies were hanging about, waiting for the bell to ring.
“Did you read the email about the Smiths?” one of the nannies said. “Jane, are they really like that?”
I nodded.
“They’re good parents, but they’re horrible people,” I admitted, not wanting to give away that I was the person who sent out the email.
“How long will you work for them?” another asked me. “I couldn’t live or work under those circumstances. Rich people need to learn that respect for them is earned, too.”
I smiled.
The nannies went back and forth as we waited. And through their chatter, I discovered something interesting about Mrs. Smith.
Turns out that my employer had a habit of “borrowing” items from her friends and never returning them.
“An entire Gucci handbag, Jane,” Mina said. “Mrs. Smith asked my ma’am if she could borrow it for a fundraising gala two months ago.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said, shocked. “I didn’t know that she was capable of that sort of thing. But she doesn’t like me getting too close to her things anyway.”
A few days later, Mrs. Smith held one of her ladies’ luncheons. It was a monthly event that she loved hosting, but this time it was only two weeks into the month.
“I need this to go well, Jane,” she said as I cut fruit up for the kids. “So, you need to attend it. The kids will be at school. Everything will be catered for. Just walk around and talk to the women. Make us seem human.”
I knew that she was puzzling. She must have heard more than enough through the grapevine.
During the event, I walked around as requested of me. But I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip. And I had nothing to lose. The Smiths were probably going to fire me at the end of the week when I couldn’t make the $1000.
“We’ll deal with it, darling,” my mother coughed into the phone when I told her the truth of the matter.
At the luncheon, I walked around, casually mentioning to the ladies how much I admired Mrs. Smith’s collection, making sure that I spoke to Eva, Mina’s employer.
“Mrs. Smith has a stunning handbag similar to yours,” I said. “Gucci. Did she lend you this one? She’s always telling me that she lends her things out because she has so much.”
Eva looked at me over the top of her champagne glass.
“Is that so, Jane?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
Whispers started circulating. By the end of the luncheon, Mrs. Smith’s reputation for borrowing without returning was the hot topic.
The next morning, her friends began asking for their things back.
Mrs. Smith was mortified.
During dinner the next night, Mr. Smith called me to the table, asking me to join them.
“Thank you, but I usually wait for Ivy and Melanie to eat,” I said politely, mentioning the chef and her helper.
“No, sit with us,” he insisted.
I obliged.
Despite his tone, I hoped that maybe he was going to tell me that the money could be forgotten. And that everything would return as normal.
“It has come to my attention that an anonymous email has gone out,” he said, cutting into his steak.
“A disgusting email,” Mrs. Smith added, taking a long sip of her wine.
“Did you have anything to do with it?” he asked me, his eyes trying to coax a confession out of me.
I shook my head, looking down at my plate.
“Then that settles it,” he said, knowingly. “You’re dismissed. You can pack up and get out tomorrow.”
I did exactly as I was told and moved back home. A week later, Mrs. Johnson called me.
“Jane, can you come over for tea?” she asked warmly.
“Of course, Mrs. Johnson,” I replied, curious about the nature of the invitation.
As we sat in her luxurious living room, she looked at me with genuine concern.
“I heard about what the Smiths did to you. It’s disgraceful.”
I nodded, trying to keep my composure.
“Well,” she continued. “We’ve decided to cut ties with the Smiths entirely. And we’d like to offer you a job. Better pay, better working conditions. We could use someone like you for our kids.”
I was stunned.
“Of course!” I exclaimed. I needed the job desperately.
“You’ve earned it,” she smiled. “The boys loved having you watch them during the holiday. And somehow, you got Jonathan to eat his peas!”
I don’t know how the Smiths reacted to me working for the Johnsons, but I hoped that they felt betrayed.
What would you have done?
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