My Groom’s Mother Slapped Me at the Wedding, Not Realizing I Was the Bride
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?” Eleanor laughed from her wheelchair.
“That’s rich, Victoria. You just assaulted this poor girl publicly. You called her stupid publicly. You planned 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.
“Forty years, Victoria. Forty 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.”
