At my wedding, my mother-in-law, Linda, made a late entrance wearing a full-length white lace gown — the kind only a bride should wear. She clung to my groom, Jeff, during photos and floated through the reception like it was her day, not mine. I tried to let it go, cropping her out of the only photo I keep on display.
Years later, my brother-in-law Dylan married Sarah, a kind and thoughtful woman. I warned her about Linda’s antics, but she reassured me: “Don’t worry, she promised not to wear white this time.” On the wedding day, however, Linda arrived in the exact same white lace dress — this time with a red sash, as if that somehow made it appropriate. I saw Sarah’s face fall, and my heart broke for her.During the photo session, Linda kept inserting herself until the photographer stopped and, with perfect timing, asked: “Oh, are you the bride? I wasn’t sure — since you’re in a white wedding dress and holding the groom’s hand.” The crowd erupted in laughter, and for the first time, Linda’s confidence cracked. Dylan wrapped his arm around Sarah, making it clear who the real bride was. Linda stormed off, fuming.
