My Groom’s Mother Slapped Me at the Wedding, Not Realizing I Was the Bride
Eleanor 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.” Eleanor 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.
“You may kiss the bride.” the reverend said.
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, Eleanor 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.
