Do parents have a secret playbook for sabotaging weddings at the last possible moment?
Because thirty minutes before I was supposed to marry Ryan, his mother dropped a bomb that exploded everything we’d built together.
Ryan and I met by accident—outside a local community theatre. My friend Mila had just wrapped her first show as director, and I was waiting with flowers when Ryan accidentally barreled into me on his way out.
“Sorry! These are… were beautiful,” he said, lifting the crushed bouquet from the ground with a guilty smile.
We stepped aside, away from the crowd. “I’m Ryan,” he offered.
“Hanna,” I replied.
Three months later, he proposed at a cozy pub over Guinness and greasy potato skins. It was messy and unpolished—perfectly us.
And a week ago, we were supposed to make it official. Small church wedding. Family and friends. A celebration of everything we’d carefully built over the past two years.
But the universe—or someone very close to Ryan—had other plans.
Leading up to the wedding, everything had gone so smoothly it was almost suspicious. Our families loved each other. His mother, Audrey, even initiated coffee dates and mani-pedis with me. We were close. Or so I thought.
That morning, I was calm, sipping on orange juice and smiling as the glam team fluffed my hair and perfected my makeup. The dress hung elegantly from a hook in the corner—my dream gown. Everything was perfect.
Until Audrey leaned in.
“Darling,” she said, her voice soft, deliberate. “Can we talk for a moment?”
I told her to wait until I was finished getting ready, but something about the way she stared at my dress, like she was saying goodbye to a future she didn’t want, set off alarms in my chest.
Once I was buttoned up and ready, I turned to her.
“I’m ready when you are.”
She hesitated for a breath too long. Then pulled out her phone.
“There’s something you need to see,” she said, holding it out. “Videos. I’m so sorry, Hanna—but you deserve to know.”
I took the phone. Pressed play.
And there it was.
A hotel room. A woman. A man, his face mostly out of frame—but the jacket he dropped on the bed? The exact one I gave Ryan for his birthday.
My stomach flipped.
“This can’t be…” I whispered.
“Look closer,” Audrey said gently. “The hotel. The jacket. You know it’s him. Better to find out now than too late, don’t you think?”
I sat down, numb.
“Are you calling off the wedding?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’ll walk down that aisle. But when the vows come, I’ll say exactly what needs to be said.”
When my father took my arm to escort me down the aisle, I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t look at Ryan. I couldn’t. Not until the priest asked us to exchange vows.
“I don’t,” I said softly.
“Speak louder, dear,” the priest prompted.
“I don’t,” I repeated, my voice stronger now, slicing through the silence like a blade.
Gasps echoed. Ryan blinked at me, stunned. “Hanna?”
“Ask your mother,” I said, turning toward Audrey. “Please, Mrs. Cole. Show everyone what you showed me.”
She looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone.
Ryan reached for it before she could hand it to me. Watched the video. Stepped back.
“This isn’t me!” he said, turning to his mother. “Mom, what is this? Where did you get this?”
Audrey said nothing. Just quietly turned and walked out of the church.
I ran from the side exit. My parents followed. I didn’t look back.
Ryan called me for hours. When night fell, I finally blocked his number.
Two days later, he knocked on my parents’ door holding takeout and flowers.
“You think this fixes everything?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But I need you to hear what really happened.”
Reluctantly, I sat down.
Ryan had gone to Audrey’s house after the ceremony. She’d been calmly eating toast, as though she hadn’t just orchestrated the biggest betrayal of our lives.
“She hired two of her students,” he said. “The video was staged. The audio, edited. She used the jacket and hotel to make it believable.”
My jaw dropped.
“She said she was protecting me from making a mistake. From marrying the wrong woman.”
I stared at him, speechless. All the moments I thought Audrey had loved me—mentored me, bonded with me—were nothing but pretense.
I forgave Ryan. He forgave me for accusing him so publicly. We’re still together, rebuilding.
But Audrey? That’s a wound I don’t know how to heal.
And I’m still trying to figure out how to plan a second wedding without looking over my shoulder.
What would you have done?
