I never needed a wedding gown to feel like a bride. When Derek and I got married, we skipped the cake tastings and crystal clinking. Instead, we had a simple courthouse ceremony with rings, followed by lunch at a cozy bistro. It felt perfectly “us.”
But when his family heard “courthouse,” things changed. His mother, Dora, texted, “Let us know when the real wedding happens,” and his sister, Denise, laughed at the idea of a “real” wife. I was treated like I wasn’t really married, despite what we’d shared.
At a family gathering, Derek’s aunt introduced me as “Derek’s long-term partner” instead of his wife. I began to feel like I didn’t belong, even though I tried to prove otherwise. I helped out with family events, but their comments stung. One night, I overheard Dora call me a “placeholder,” and Denise mocked me for “just wanting the ring.” That night, I decided I would give them a wedding they’d never forget.
I sent invites to Derek’s family, including him, for a private reception—no names, just an address and a time. When the day arrived, the guests were shocked by the extravagant setting, and the moment I stepped forward, I announced I was giving them the celebration they wanted. I handed each guest a divorce notice, saying, “Since I wasn’t treated like a real wife, I no longer need a real husband.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I looked at Derek and said, “You chose their silence over my worth.”
With that, I left. No more pretending. They wanted a wedding, but instead, they got a reckoning.
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