My celiac stepmother demanded the entire wedding menu be gluten-free, but I said no. She didn’t take it well. At my bridal shower, she brought “gluten-free” cookies. People started coughing, and it turned out they weren’t gluten-free at all—three people had reactions.
My cousin, allergic to wheat, broke out in hives. My best friend vomited, and my future sister-in-law had to use her inhaler. I confronted my stepmother, and she claimed it was a mix-up, saying she didn’t realize the flour wasn’t certified gluten-free. But I had seen the bag in her car earlier that week—regular wheat flour.
My mom was furious, and Liam wanted to uninvite her from the wedding. But something felt off. Why go through the trouble of baking gluten-free cookies and knowingly use wheat flour?
Our relationship had always been strained. Since my dad married her five years ago, it became clear that everything had to revolve around her—her health, opinions, lifestyle. She’d often twist things to make herself the victim, so when I refused to make the whole wedding gluten-free, she sulked.
I thought her cookie stunt was the first sign of trouble.