How My Sister’s Wedding Became a Crime Scene in Less Than 20 Minutes

Eventually, she told me that her new husband, Jeffree, had wanted to cancel the entire reception and come to the hospital with me, but by the time they realized how serious it was, the police had already arrived and started their investigation. She said watching them take Diane away in handcuffs while I was being loaded into an ambulance was the most surreal experience of her life.

Felicity apologized for not believing something was wrong when she saw me slumping over during the ceremony, for assuming I was just being dramatic or seeking attention like Diane had been saying all week. She admitted that Diane had been planting seeds of doubt about me for months, making little comments about how I was jealous of Felicity’s success and would probably do something to ruin the wedding.

Felicity had dismissed it as just future mother-in-law drama, but now she realized Diane had been setting up a narrative to explain away whatever she was planning to do to me.

The toxicology reports came back three days later showing I’d ingested a dangerous combination of Rohypnol, prescription sedatives, and a veterinary tranquilizer that Diane had apparently stolen from her job at an animal clinic. The mixture should have killed me according to the doctors, and the only reason I survived was because I’d only consumed about a third of the doctored champagne before my body started reacting.

Detective Foster came back to tell me they’d charged Diane with attempted murder, aggravated assault, false imprisonment, and several other crimes I couldn’t keep track of. He said they’d found evidence on her phone of her researching how to make someone appear drunk or sick and messages to her sister discussing how to handle the problem of Felicity’s annoying little sister ruining the wedding photos.

Apparently, Diane had convinced herself that I was deliberately trying to sabotage Felicity’s marriage to her son and that removing me from the equation would solve multiple problems. The detective asked if I wanted a restraining order, and I said yes immediately, not wanting to take any chances that she might try something else if she made bail.

The local news picked up the story, and suddenly I couldn’t go anywhere without people recognizing me as the girl who almost died at her sister’s wedding. My phone exploded with messages from people I barely knew—everyone wanting details or offering sympathy or asking invasive questions about my relationship with Diane.

I ended up turning my phone off completely and staying with dad at his house while I recovered, sleeping in my old childhood bedroom surrounded by posters and stuffed animals from a simpler time. Felicity and Jeffree postponed their honeymoon and came over every day to check on me, bringing food and movies and just sitting quietly when I didn’t feel like talking.

Jeffree apologized constantly for his mother’s actions, saying he’d known she had control issues but never imagined she was capable of something like this. He told me they’d cut off all contact with her and were cooperating fully with the police investigation, providing phone records and emails that showed the extent of Diane’s obsession with controlling every aspect of the wedding.

Physical therapy started two weeks after I got out of the hospital because the drug combination had done some nerve damage that affected my coordination and balance. I had to relearn how to walk without stumbling and how to hold things without dropping them, like my brain had forgotten how to send the right signals to my muscles.

The therapist, a woman named Kira with impossibly positive energy, kept telling me I was making great progress even when I felt like I was moving backward. She explained that the toxins had affected my central nervous system and it would take months of consistent work to fully recover—if full recovery was even possible.

Some days I couldn’t hold a pen to write or a fork to eat, and I’d end up crying in frustration while dad tried to help without making me feel more helpless. The doctor said I was lucky to be alive and that most people who ingested that particular cocktail of drugs didn’t survive, which made me feel simultaneously grateful and angry that my sister’s mother-in-law had turned me into a cautionary tale.

Diane’s preliminary hearing happened six weeks after the wedding, and I had to testify about what I remembered from that day. Her lawyer tried to paint me as an attention-seeking drama queen who’d taken drugs myself to ruin Felicity’s wedding, which was such an absurd claim that several people in the courtroom actually laughed.

The prosecutor presented the evidence of Diane purchasing the drugs, researching dosages online, and being witnessed by multiple people tampering with my drink. They played security footage from the venue showing Diane taking my champagne flute from a server’s tray, stepping behind a column for 30 seconds, then placing it back on the tray in a specific position.

The time stamp matched perfectly with when that tray was distributed to the bridal party, and my seat assignment put me in the exact spot where that doctored drink would have ended up. Diane sat through all of this with her arms crossed and her face blank, like she was watching a boring movie instead of evidence of her attempting to murder me.

The judge ordered her held without bail until trial, citing the severity of the charges and the premeditated nature of the crime. Social media became a nightmare after the hearing because people started taking sides and creating these elaborate theories about what really happened.

Some blamed Felicity for not protecting me better, others blamed dad for marrying into a family with someone like Diane, and a disturbing number of people claimed I must have done something to provoke her or that I was lying for attention. I made the mistake of reading through comments on one news article and spent the next hour crying over strangers calling me a liar and a gold digger trying to sue Diane’s family.

Dad eventually blocked all the news sites and social media apps on my phone because I couldn’t stop obsessively checking what people were saying about me. Felicity dealt with her own harassment online, with people sending her hateful messages about ruining her mother-in-law’s life and destroying her son’s marriage before it even began.