When my widowed mom found love again, our family rejoiced—except Aunt Dana, whose envy festered. She crossed a line by wearing a bridal-white gown to Mom’s wedding, craving the spotlight. I ensured she got it, in a humiliating way.
Five years ago, Dad’s fatal car accident left our home silent. Mom, 35, raised me with grace, hiding her grief. She hadn’t dated until Greg, whose kindness rekindled her spark. Their engagement thrilled me, and I dove into wedding planning.
Dana’s venomous texts called the wedding “tacky.” At a brunch, she mocked Mom’s joy. I saved screenshots, sensing trouble. On the wedding day, Mom glowed in lace, but Dana stormed in, wearing white, cackling, “I wear it better!” Mom’s joy faltered.
I whispered, “I’ve got this.” With my boyfriend, I moved Dana’s seat to the kids’ table by the DJ booth. She fumed, juice-stained by toddlers, ignored by guests. She left early, erased from photos. Her spotlight became her shame.
Dana’s perspective? She felt Mom had everything—love, luck—while she got scraps. Her white dress was vengeance, but my trap outshone her. She vows revenge, but I protected Mom’s day. Dana’s villain arc is her choice.
