MY GROOM’s Mother SLAPS Me at My Wedding, Not Knowing I’m His Bride. My Groom Ended It All.
The sound of her palm connecting with my cheek echoed through the church vestibule like a gunshot. In that moment, standing there in my grandmother’s borrowed pearls, with my face stinging and my dignity shattered, I realized my mother-in-law, Victoria, had just made the biggest mistake of her life. She just didn’t know it yet.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m Delilah Fam. I’m 29 years old. And this is the story of how my wedding day turned into the most satisfying revenge I never planned. Before I continue, please drop a like and comment below. Your support means everything to me. Thank you. That morning started like any bride should.
Butterflies in my stomach, champagne with my bridesmaids, and my mother’s happy tears. Marcus and I had been together for three years, engaged for one. And despite his mother’s constant, passive aggressive comments about my Vietnamese heritage and my small town upbringing, we’d made it to the altar. Or so I thought.
Victoria Blackthornne was old money from Boston, the kind of woman who still referred to her household help as the staff, and believed that anyone who didn’t summer in Martha’s vineyard was essentially homeless. She’d made it clear from day one that I wasn’t good enough for her precious Marcus. But here’s the thing about growing up with nothing.
You learn to smile through anything, even when someone’s trying to break you. The first sign of trouble came when my wedding dress went missing from the bridal suite. Not misplaced, missing. The David’s bridal garment bag I’d hung so carefully the night before had vanished like a magic trick. My maid of honor, Jenny, found it an hour later stuffed behind the church’s ancient boiler, covered in what looked suspiciously like red wine.
“Accidents happen,” the wedding coordinator said, though her eyes said something different. “Then the flowers arrived, if you could call them that.” Instead of the white roses and baby’s breath I’d ordered, someone had delivered funeral arrangements. Actual funeral arrangements complete with a banner reading, “In deepest sympathy.
” The florist swore up and down that a woman named V. Blackthornne had called to change the order. But the real kicker, Cassandra, Marcus’ younger sister and Victoria’s golden child, kept appearing everywhere I went, phone in hand, whispering into it like some sort of wedding spy she’d been trying to convince Marcus I was wrong for him since day one.
Probably because I once caught her stealing from their father’s wallet, and she knew I knew. Jenny pulled me aside while I was trying to salvage my hair after the stylist accidentally used the wrong products. Delilah, honey, there’s something you should know. I overheard Victoria at the rehearsal dinner last night. She was telling her country club friends that she had a plan to test if you were really good enough for the Blackthorn name.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, my usually sleek black hair now resembling something between a bird’s nest and a failed science experiment. What kind of test? The kind where she proves you’re a gold digger in front of everyone. That’s when something inside me shifted. You know that moment when you realize you can either be a victim or you can play the game.
I chose the game. With my dress destroyed and time running out, I had to wear my grandmother’s wedding dress, a beautiful but dated 1960s number that completely changed my silhouette. Combined with the disaster that was now my hair hidden under an emergency veil and the thick vintage makeup the backup artist applied to cover my stress hives, I looked nothing like myself.
That’s when it hit me. Victoria had only met me through terrible video calls where the connection kept cutting out. She’d insisted on them being audio only half the time because she didn’t trust modern technology. The woman had no idea what I actually looked like in person. “Jenny,” I whispered, “I need you to do something crazy for me.
” As I explained my plan, her eyes grew wider and wider. “You want to pretend to be the wedding coordinator just for a bit? I need to know what she’s planning.” The universe seemed to agree with my improvisation because at that moment, the actual wedding coordinator had a family emergency and had to leave. I stepped into her sensible flats.
Thank God we wore the same size, grabbed her clipboard, and transformed into someone else entirely. Victoria was holding court in the church’s main hall, surrounded by her society friends, all of them dressed like they were attending a royal wedding instead of a ceremony in a modest church in Maryland. She wore a white dress.
Of course she did. It was more elaborate than anything I could have afforded with enough diamonds to fund a small country. Where is that incompetent girl? She barked at no one in particular. The coordinator, the bride? Anyone with half a brain? I approached with my clipboard clutched like armor. Mrs.
Blackthornne, I’m filling in for the coordinator. How can I help? She looked right through me. Not at me. through me like I was furniture. Finally, someone who might actually be useful, unlike that gold digging nobody my son insists on marrying. She laughed and her friends tittered along like trained birds. I’ve been telling everyone she’s after the family money. Vietnamese, you know.
They’re all looking for green cards and bank accounts. My hands gripped the clipboard so tight I thought it might snap, but I kept my voice steady. Professional. I’m sure your son loves her very much. Love, Victoria scoffed. Love doesn’t pay mortgages, dear. That’s why I’ve arranged a little surprise. Cassandra found out the girl has been stealing from Marcus already.
We have proof. Well, manufactured proof. But who’s going to question it when I presented during the ceremony? One of her friends, a woman with a face pulled so tight she looked permanently surprised, gasped with delight. Victoria, you’re so clever. But what if Marcus gets angry? Oh, please. My son always comes back to mother. Always has.
Always will. Once he sees what kind of trash he almost married, he’ll thank me. I excused myself to the bathroom and texted Jenny everything. She responded with a string of emojis that would have made a sailor blush. Then she added, “Cassandra is trying to seduce Tom right now, Marcus’ best man in the coat closet.
” This was turning into a soap opera, and we hadn’t even started the ceremony yet. When I returned to the main hall, Victoria had moved on to showing her friends a list, an actual laminated list titled requirements for a Blackthornne bride with items like must have attended an Ivy League school and must be able to trace ancestry to the Mayflower and my personal favorite, must know the difference between shrimp forks and oyster forks.
I almost laughed, almost. Instead, I watched as she mistook one of the guests, a blonde woman in an expensive suit for me and started her approach. The poor woman looked confused as Victoria began grilling her about her intentions with Marcus. Playing the role of coordinator gave me a front row seat to Victoria’s increasing desperation.
As the ceremony time approached, she couldn’t understand why the bride hadn’t appeared yet. The blonde woman had fled after Victoria accused her of being a social climbing impostor, which in fairness was half-right since she was an impostor. Just not the one Victoria was looking for. “Where is she?” Victoria hissed at me for the 10th time.
The ceremony starts in 30 minutes. “I’ll check the bridal suite,” I offered, hiding my smile. “But first, I stopped by the coat closet where Jenny had reported the Cassandra situation. Sure enough, there she was, pressed against Tom like a discount romance novel cover, her hands where they definitely shouldn’t be on her brother’s best man.
“Oh,” I exclaimed loudly, making sure my voice carried, “So sorry to interrupt.” Tom jumped back like he’d been electrocuted, his face turning the color of the funeral roses. Cassandra, however, just glared at me with those cold blackthorn eyes. “Mind your own business. Help!” she sneered. Of course, Miss Blackthornne, though you might want to know your mother is looking for you.
Something about the plan. Her eyes lit up with malicious glee. Oh, right. The proof about that gold diggers’s theft. I planted it in her purse earlier. Mother’s going to expose her right at the altar. It’s going to be delicious. Tom looked between us, horror dawning on his face. Cassandra, what are you talking about? Delilah would never steal anything. Oh, Tom.
Cassandra purred, trying to cidle back up to him. You’re so naive. That’s what I love about you. But Tom was already backing away. You’re insane. Both of you. You and your mother. Marcus deserves better than this. He stormed off and Cassandra turned her fury on me. You stupid little nobody. You ruined everything. That word stupid.
It would come back to haunt them all. If you’re enjoying this story, please take just a second to hit that subscribe button and like this video. It really does help me create more content for you, and honestly, your support keeps me going. Thank you so much. I returned to Victoria with news that the bride was getting ready and would be down soon.
She was pacing now, her white dress swishing dramatically with each turn. The church was filling with guests, and I could see Marcus at the altar looking handsome but nervous in his tuxedo. This is ridiculous, Victoria exploded. What kind of classless girl shows up late to her own wedding? Her mother, a spritly 85-year-old named Elellaner, wheeled up in her chair, the same kind of girl who has to deal with your nonsense.
Victoria, sit down before you give yourself a stroke. Mother, please, not now. Oh. Uh, I think now is perfect timing. Elellaner looked at me and winked. Actually winked. You look familiar, dear. Have we met? Before I could answer, Victoria grabbed my arm. You go find that bride right now, or I’ll make sure you never work in this state again. Of course, Mrs.
Blackthornne. I headed to the bridal suite where Jenny was waiting with the biggest grin I’d ever seen. Delilah, you’re not going to believe this. I found something in Victoria’s purse. She held up a receipt. A receipt for the funeral flowers, the wine that destroyed my dress, and a payment to the hair stylist to make mistakes.
All paid for with Victoria’s credit card, all with her signature. “We’re keeping this,” I said, tucking it into my bra. “Evidence.” “5 minutes to ceremony,” someone called. It was showtime. I stayed in my coordinator disguise as the ceremony began, standing at the back of the church with my clipboard like I was checking off important tasks.
Victoria had positioned herself in the front row, her white dress gleaming like a beacon of narcissism. Cassandra sat beside her, practically vibrating with anticipation. The music started, and the bridesmaids began their walk. Jenny winked at me as she passed. Then came the moment, the bride’s entrance.
Except I wasn’t walking down that aisle yet. Victoria’s head whipped around like something from The Exorcist. “Where is she?” She hissed loud enough for the first five rows to hear. I approached her calmly. There seems to be a small delay, Mrs. Blackthornne. That’s when it happened. She stood up, her face purple with rage, and slapped me across the face hard.
The crack echoed through the church like thunder. “You stupid, incompetent fool. You had one job, to make sure that gold digging got down this aisle so I could expose her.” “One job!” The entire church gasped. The organist stopped midnote and you could have heard a pin drop in that silence. And that’s when Marcus’s voice cut through the air like ice.
Mother, what did you just do? He was standing at the altar, but he’d seen everything. The microphone on his lapel, the one for the wedding video, had picked up every word and broadcast it through the church’s sound system. Every single word. Victoria turned, her face shifting from rage to confusion. Marcus, darling, I was just disciplining the help.
This coordinator is completely incompetent. She can’t even find your bride. Mother, Marcus said, walking down from the altar with slow, deliberate steps. I’d like you to meet someone. He reached for my hand and I took it, pulling off the emergency veil and letting my hair fall free. The vintage makeup couldn’t hide who I was anymore. Not with Marcus beside me.
Mother, meet my bride. The woman you just assaulted. The woman you just called stupid. The woman you’ve been plotting against all morning. Victoria’s face went from purple to white so fast I thought she might faint. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Behind her, Cassandra looked like she’d been struck by lightning.
But but Victoria stammered. “Oh, there’s more.” Marcus continued, his voice still deadly calm. “Tom told me about Cassandra’s attempt to seduce him. The fake evidence you planted that the destroyed dress, the funeral flowers, everything. Elellaner wheeled herself forward. I told you, Victoria. I told you 40 years ago when you married my son.
Money doesn’t make you better than anyone. But you never listened. The microphone was still on. Every guest in the church had heard everything. 300 people, including Victoria’s entire country club, her charity board friends, and most importantly, the Blackthorn family board of directors. This isn’t what it looks like, Victoria tried, but her voice was weak now.
It’s exactly what it looks like. I finally spoke, my cheeks still stinging, but my voice steady. You tried to destroy my wedding because I don’t fit your narrow, bigoted view of who deserves your son. But here’s what you didn’t count on. Marcus loves me. His father loves me. Your mother loves me. This family chose me, Mrs. Blackthornne.
The question is, what are they going to choose about you? Marcus’s father, Richard, stood up from his seat. He’d been silent until now, but the look on his face said everything. Victoria, we need to talk now. Richard, darling, you don’t understand. I understand perfectly. You assaulted our daughter-in-law in a church in front of 300 witnesses while being recorded.
The wedding videographer, bless his heart, gave me a thumbs up from the back. He’d gotten it all. The church had become a courtroom, and Victoria was on trial. Marcus stood beside me, his hand in mine, and I could feel the controlled fury radiating from him like heat from a forge. 300 witnesses,” he repeated slowly, letting each word land like a hammer, including Judge Patterson, Senator Williams, and oh, look.
Isn’t that Channel 7’s news anchor in row 12? Victoria’s perfectly composed face finally cracked. She looked around wildly, seeing camera phones raised everywhere. In 2025, everyone documents everything, and her spectacular meltdown was about to go viral. Marcus, sweetheart, let’s discuss this privately, she pleaded.
Privately? Elellanar laughed from her wheelchair. That’s rich, Victoria. You just assaulted this poor girl publicly. You called her stupid publicly. You plan to humiliate her publicly. What’s wrong? Don’t like the spotlight when it’s showing your true colors. That’s when Cassandra made her fatal error. She stood up, pointing at me with a shaking finger. She’s still a thief.
I have proof. Check her purse. You mean the fake evidence you planted? Tom’s voice rang out from the groomsman’s section. The evidence you told me about while trying to shove your tongue down my throat in the coat closet. The collective gasp from the congregation sounded like a windstorm. Cassandra’s face went from pale to crimson.
That’s a lie. She screeched. Really? Jenny stepped forward, holding up her phone. Because I have a recording of you admitting it. Amazing how thin those closet doors are. Marcus turned to his sister with disgust. You tried to seduce my best friend to create drama at my wedding. It was mother’s idea. Cassandra threw Victoria under the bus so fast it probably left tire marks.
I did no such thing, Victoria protested. That’s when I played my ace. I pulled out the receipt Jenny had found. Really? Then why do I have receipts for funeral flowers, wine to destroy my dress, and payment to the hair stylist to sabotage me? All with your signature? Richard took the receipt, studied it, then looked at his wife with an expression I’d never seen before. It wasn’t anger.
It was disappointment so profound it seemed to age him 10 years. 40 years, Victoria. 40 years I’ve watched you hurt people with your snobbery. But this attacking our son’s happiness, assaulting his bride. We’re done. Richard, you don’t mean that. The divorce papers will be filed Monday.
The announcement sent shock waves through the church. Victoria Blackthornne, society queen, was being divorced publicly, humiliatingly. But Marcus wasn’t done. Mother, you’re banned from our reception. You’re banned from our lives until you can genuinely apologize and prove you’ve changed. And Cassandra, same goes for you. You can’t do this. Victoria shrieked.
I’m your mother. No, Marcus said quietly. A mother loves their children. A mother wants them to be happy. A mother doesn’t try to destroy the best thing that ever happened to them because of their own prejudices. You’re not my mother. You’re just the woman who gave birth to me. Elellaner started a slow clap. One person joined, then another.
Soon, the entire church was applauding as Victoria and Cassandra were escorted out by two ushers who looked like they were enjoying their job a little too much. As Victoria passed me, she hissed. “This isn’t over.” Oh, but it is. Elellaner called after her. By the way, Victoria, remember that family trust fund you’re so proud of? The one my late husband set up? Guess who controls it now that you’re getting divorced? Spoiler alert, it’s me.
And I’m feeling very generous toward my new granddaughter-in-law. Victoria’s scream of rage echoed down the street as the church doors closed behind her. With the toxic duo gone, something magical happened. The entire atmosphere of the church transformed. It was like someone had opened all the windows and let fresh air in. After years of stuffiness, Richard stood up, straightening his tie.
Well, that was overdue. Reverend, I believe we have a wedding to conduct. The reverend, who looked like he’d witnessed a miracle and a catastrophe simultaneously, nodded slowly. Indeed, we do, though perhaps the bride would like a moment to compose herself. I touched my still stinging cheek and laughed. Actually laughed.
Are you kidding? This is the best I’ve felt in three years. Let’s get married. I quickly changed into a simple white sundress Jenny had thought to bring as a backup. Nothing fancy, but it was clean and it was mine. As I walked down that aisle for real this time, I saw faces I’d never noticed before. Marcus’ cousins, who Victoria had deemed too common to invite to family dinners.
His college friends she’d called Riffraff. His co-workers she’d ignored at every company function. They were all smiling at me. Really smiling. Not the fake society smiles I’d gotten used to. When I reached Marcus, he cupped my face gently, his thumb barely grazing where his mother had slapped me. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Don’t be.
You just gave me the best wedding gift ever. A life without their toxicity.” The ceremony itself was beautiful in its simplicity. No elaborate unity candle ceremony that Victoria had insisted on. No pretentious vows she’d tried to write for us. Just Marcus and me promising to love, honor, and protect each other from crazy relatives.
When the reverend said, “You may kiss the bride.” Marcus dipped me like we were in a 1940s movie. And the church erupted in genuine joy. As we walked back down the aisle as husband and wife, Ellaner called out, “Reception’s on me. Open bar. Let’s celebrate the liberation.” The reception was everything Victoria would have hated and therefore perfect.
The DJ played actual music people could dance to. Not the string quartet she’d hired that I’d had to cancel. The food was comfort food from my favorite local restaurant. Not the pretentious French cuisine Victoria had tried to force on us. And the speeches. Oh, the speeches were glorious. Tom stood up first. I’ve known Marcus for 15 years and I’ve watched him slowly suffocate under his mother’s expectations.
Today I watched him breathe freely for the first time. Delilah, you didn’t just marry him, you saved him. Jenny went next. Delilah is the strongest woman I know. She took three years of abuse with Grace. But today, today she showed that grace doesn’t mean weakness. It means choosing your battles. And girl, you won. But the showstopper was Elellanar.
She wheeled herself to the microphone and said, “I’d like to tell you all a story about my daughter-in-law, Victoria.” “No, not that one.” She pointed at me with a grin. “The other one, the one who just got ejected from this wedding like a drunk fan at a baseball game.” The room howled with laughter. 40 years ago, Victoria married my son for his money.
Oh, she pretended it was love, but I knew better. I watched her systematically alienate everyone who truly cared about Richard, his siblings, his friends, even me for a while. She built a prison of propriety and locked him inside. But today, today, my grandson broke free and Victoria learned that money without family is just paper.
Worthless, lonely paper. She raised her champagne glass to Delilah, who showed us all that love is stronger than snobbery, that kindness beats cruelty, and that sometimes the best families are the ones we choose, not the ones we’re born into. The toast was so beautiful, half the room was crying, the other half was recording it on their phones.
The reception continued into the night, and with each passing hour, more stories emerged. Marcus’s aunt revealed how Victoria had uninvited her from Christmas for 10 years because she’d married a plumber. His cousin shared how Victoria had tried to sabotage his small business because it wasn’t befitting the Blackthornne name.
She wrote anonymous bad reviews online. He laughed slightly drunk on Elellanar’s free champagne. Jokes on her. My customers rallied and I ended up getting featured in the Boston Globe as a must visit restaurant. The wedding videographer approached me around midnight. Mrs. Blackthornne, the new Mrs. Blackthornne.
I’ve been doing this for 20 years, and I’ve never seen anything like today. Would you mind if I kept a copy for my portfolio? With your permission, of course. Keep it, I said. Share it. Let it be a warning to all toxic mothers-in-law everywhere. What we didn’t know was that someone had already shared it.
A guest had live streamed the entire confrontation on Tik Tok. By the time we cut the cake, a delicious grocery store sheetcake that Jenny had grabbed last minute to replace Victoria’s five- tier monstrosity. The video had two million views. The comments were comedy gold. The grandmother is my hero. Did she really wear white to her son’s wedding and slap the bride? This is better than any reality show.
Team Delilah, where do I get my t-shirt? Marcus’ phone started ringing nonstop. Board members from the family company, business associates, everyone who’d ever had to deal with Victoria was calling to express their support and share their own horror stories. Did you know, Richard said joining us at the head table, that she once made my secretary cry for using the wrong color Post-it notes, said yellow was too cheerful for serious business.
Remember when she tried to get the neighbors evicted because their daughter practiced violin? Ellaner added said it lowered property values. Oh, what about the time she called the cops on those Girl Scouts selling cookies? Marcus’s uncle chimed in. Claimed they were loitering. Each story was worse than the last, painting a picture of a woman who’ terrorized everyone around her for decades, protected only by her husband’s money and social status.
But not anymore. Richard pulled me aside near the end of the reception. Delilah, I owe you an apology. I should have stood up to her years ago. I let my fear of confrontation hurt my son. And worse, I let it hurt you. Can you forgive a foolish old man? There’s nothing to forgive, I said, and meant it. You stood up when it mattered most.
I’m setting up a trust fund for you and Marcus. Victoria can’t touch it. It’s my way of saying welcome to the real family, the one we’re building without her. Around 200 a.m., as the reception wound down, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. It was Cassandra. I hope you’re happy. You’ve ruined everything. I showed it to Marcus, who took my phone and typed back, “No, we fixed everything.
And yes, we’re incredibly happy.” Then he blocked the number. 6 months. That’s all it took for Victoria Blackthornne’s carefully constructed world to completely collapse. The video of the wedding slap had gone beyond viral. It became a cultural moment. Someone made a remix. There were memes. Don’t be a Victoria became shorthand for entitled mother-in-law behavior. Dr.
Phil wanted to do an episode. We declined, but Victoria didn’t. That was mistake number 1, and something. She went on national television trying to defend herself, but every word dug her deeper. She actually said, and I quote, “I was protecting my son from gold diggers.” To which Dr. Phil responded, “Ma’am, you literally wore white to your son’s wedding and assaulted the bride.
” The audience booed her off the stage. Meanwhile, Marcus and I were thriving. Without his mother’s constant criticism and interference, he got promoted to CEO of the family company, a position Victoria had been blocking because she wanted to keep control. Richard stepped back to an advisory role and spent his time traveling with his new girlfriend, a delightful woman named Susan who owned a food truck.
Victoria would have absolutely died. Elellanar moved in with us for a while and honestly, it was the best. She taught me how to make her secret pasta sauce and told me stories about Richard before Victoria got her claws in him. He used to play jazz saxophone, she said one evening. Can you imagine? Victoria made him sell it.
said it was undignified. We bought him a new saxophone for Christmas. He cried. The extended family started having regular gatherings, real ones, not the stuffy formal dinners Victoria used to mandate. Potlux where people actually laughed game nights that got competitive but fun. Holiday celebrations where kids could be kids instead of miniature adults representing the Blackthorn name.
Then came the day Victoria reached out. She’d lost everything in the divorce. Richard’s lawyers had ironclad documentation of her financial abuse and manipulation. Her society friends had abandoned her faster than rats from a sinking ship. Even Cassandra had moved to California to find herself. Translation: hide from the shame.
Victoria was living in a studio apartment working as a receptionist at a dental office. The irony was delicious. The woman who’d called everyone else the help was now actually helping others. She called Marcus. Not me, but he put it on speaker. “I need help,” she said. And for the first time in 3 years, she sounded human. Broken, but human.
“Why should we help you?” Marcus asked. There was a long pause. Then, because I was wrong about everything, about Delilah, about what matters, about what family means. I lost everything trying to control everyone and I ended up alone. That’s not an apology. I said, “You’re right, Delilah. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the slap, for the names, for trying to destroy your wedding. For 3 years of trying to break you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to my son. And I was too blinded by my own prejudices to see it.” It sounded rehearsed, but also genuine, like she’d practiced it a hundred times trying to get it right. “What do you want, mother?” Marcus asked. Just just to not be erased.
I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve to be in your lives, but maybe someday could I meet my grandchild. Oh, yeah. Did I mention I was 6 months pregnant? Elellanar had already knitted approximately 700 baby blankets in preparation. Marcus looked at me. The decision was mine. Here’s what’s going to happen.
I said, “You’re going to therapy. real therapy, not some life coach your country club recommended. You’re going to work on your issues. All of them. The racism, the classism, the narcissism. Then after a year, we’ll have coffee. One coffee, and we’ll see. That’s more than I deserve, she whispered. Yes, it is, Marcus said. Don’t waste this chance.
She didn’t. A year later, we had that coffee. She showed up in regular clothes, not her usual designer armor. She asked about my family, my culture, my dreams, and actually listened to the answers. When our daughter was born, she was allowed to visit supervised for an hour. Baby steps. The last family wedding was Richard’s to Susan.
Victoria attended as a regular guest, sitting in the back, dressed appropriately in blue. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t try to control anything, didn’t make it about her progress. During the reception, she approached me. Thank you, she said simply. For what? For being strong enough to break the cycle. For showing Marcus he deserved better.
For giving me a chance to change. Then she walked away. No drama, no demands, just acknowledgement. Marcus pulled me onto the dance floor, our daughter balanced on his hip. You know what the best part is? He said, “What? Our daughter will never know that version of her grandmother. She’ll only know whatever person Victoria becomes from here.
” As we danced, surrounded by chosen family and blood family who’d chosen us back, I realized something. That slap had been a gift. It was the moment everything toxic in our lives got exposed to sunlight and withered away. Sometimes the worst moments become the best turning points. And sometimes karma shows up to your wedding wearing white and ends up leaving in disgrace.
