My future brother-in-law was always a problem—rude, arrogant, and always overstepping the boundaries. But on my wedding day, he crossed a line we could never forgive. He humiliated me in front of everyone and turned my perfect day into a nightmare. It was the final straw, and my fiancé had had enough.
When Michael and I started dating, everything seemed like a fairy tale. Not the perfect kind, but the kind with unexpected twists and turns.
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Yes, I cried on our first date because I was running late. I ran into the restaurant, breathless and embarrassed.
My eyes filled with tears as I tried to explain: the traffic, the spilled coffee, a broken shoe. Michael sat there silently, not knowing what to do.
We finished dinner, but he didn’t call me back for a week. I figured I’d scared him off.
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So we ran into each other at a mutual friend’s party. I explained myself, saying I was just an emotional person. To my surprise, he understood and admitted he was the same.
That party was six years ago, and from then on, we were inseparable. I no longer cried alone at movies where animals died: Michael cried with me. He was my soulmate, and I knew he felt the same.
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Our relationship progressed quickly. After three months, we moved in together, and we remained together for six years.
But somehow, we never got around to planning a wedding. There was always something—either I was having a crisis, or Michael was—so we kept putting it off.
Then, eight months ago, Michael proposed to me. He planned everything so well that I didn’t suspect a thing, which made the moment even more special. Not that I needed a proposal to know I wanted to spend my life with him.
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But, like any couple, there was a problem. His family. More specifically, his brother Jordan.
Jordan was horrible. Rude, arrogant, and conceited. He thought he was better than everyone, including Michael.
He was only three years older than him, but he never missed an opportunity to remind Michael that he was the older brother.
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I still remember our first meeting. Michael took me to meet his parents, and since Jordan was still living with them—yes, even as an adult—he was there too. So much for being as “amazing” as he thought he was.
At first, everything seemed to be going well. We had a polite conversation. But when I stepped away to use the bathroom, Jordan was waiting by the door.
“Are you bored yet?” Jordan asked, his voice deep and cocky.
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I stiffened. “No, I’m fine,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but firm.
He laughed. “Come on, let’s have some fun,” he suggested, moving closer.
I took a small step back. “No, really, I’m fine,” I said cautiously. A strange feeling ran down my spine.
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Jordan tilted his head. “Come on. My brother doesn’t deserve someone like you.”
“You’d have a much better time with me,” he said. His voice was soft, but his eyes held something cold.
Before I could react, he grabbed me by the waist. His hand slid down, pressing against my butt.
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“Let me go!” I yelled, pushing him away. My heart was pounding as I ran toward the dining room, breathing heavily.
Michael looked up as I approached. I put a hand to my stomach, forcing a weak smile. “I don’t feel very well. Can we go?”
Michael stood up immediately. “Of course.”
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Her parents looked concerned. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Danica,” they said as we hugged goodbye.
Once in the car, Michael looked at me. “Are you okay? Have you eaten anything bad?”
I took a deep breath. “Jordan hit on me,” I said.
Michael’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What? That jerk.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m going to talk to him.”
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Michael spoke to Jordan, but Jordan laughed. He claimed he was just “testing” me as Michael’s older brother, as if that excused his behavior. I didn’t believe him for a second, but Michael didn’t object.
Sometimes I wondered if he was afraid of Jordan. As a child, Jordan had bullied and teased him constantly.
He always found ways to make Michael feel small, like he was less than him. Their relationship had never been close, but Michael kept trying to keep the peace.
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But when Jordan wouldn’t stop, even Michael had to admit it wasn’t a joke anymore.
Then the messages started. Inappropriate messages. Unwanted photos. Nasty words. I blocked his number.
When I told Michael I didn’t want Jordan at our wedding, he agreed right away.
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One night, Michael came home looking exhausted. He sighed and plopped down on the couch next to me, his shoulders heavy with tension.
“What happened?” I asked, noticing his shoulders slump.
He rubbed his face and let out a long sigh. “I talked to my parents. They said if Jordan isn’t invited to the wedding, they won’t come either.” His voice was quiet, thick with frustration.
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I felt a sharp pang in my chest. “It’s not fair,” I said, my hands balled into fists.
“I know,” Michael muttered, looking at the ground.
“The way he treats me is reason enough for me not to want him there. He harassed me, sent me disgusting messages. Why doesn’t that matter to you?” My voice faltered.
Michael didn’t respond. He just sat there, staring into space.
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I exhaled, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Okay. We’ll invite Jordan,” I said, my voice strained.
Michael raised his head. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not like we have much of a choice. But your parents have to make sure I don’t have to see him,” I said firmly.
Michael put his arms around me. “You’re the best,” he whispered.
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The wedding day finally arrived. My heart was so full I thought it would burst.
I’d dreamed of this moment for years, and it was finally here. I was marrying the man I loved more than anything, and nothing could ruin my day. Not stress, not nerves, not even Jordan.
Or so I thought.
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I was in the bridal room at the church, standing in front of the mirror while my bridesmaids helped me with the finishing touches.
The dress was perfect. Everything was perfect. Then there was a knock at the door.
Smiling, I turned to open it. My breath caught in my throat when I saw Jordan standing there.
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“What are you…” Before I could finish, he lifted a bucket and, with a swift movement, poured its contents over me. A cold, sticky liquid soaked my dress, my skin, and my hair.
“This is for rejecting me, witch,” he sneered.
I screamed. First, the smell of paint hit me. Bright green dripped from my arms. My beautiful white dress was ruined.
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“Are you crazy?” I yelled, my voice shaking.
Jordan just laughed, his eyes shining with satisfaction, and closed the door in my face.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed into the chair, sobbing. My bridesmaids rushed in, their faces horrified.
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“My God,” one of them whispered.
“We need water,” said another, grabbing a towel.
They scrubbed my dress, but the paint had already soaked in. There was no way to save it.
Stacy grabbed me by the shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll find a white dress, anything.” She ran off before I could answer.
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I wiped my face, but tears sprang to my eyes. It didn’t have to be this way.
I couldn’t stop crying. I’d spent months choosing my wedding dress, searching for the perfect one, imagining how I’d look walking down the aisle.
Now I’d have to wear something I’d never even seen before. My hair was completely green, with streaks of paint stuck to the strands. My bridesmaids rushed to pull it up and cover it with my veil.
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“Nothing will happen,” one of them whispered.
“We’ll wash it after the ceremony,” another promised.
The ceremony was supposed to have already started, but Stacy still hadn’t shown up.
The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. My bridesmaids paced around, checking the time, whispering worriedly.
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Finally, the door burst open. Stacy rushed into the room, out of breath and red-faced. In her hands, she held a surprisingly beautiful dress.
“Jordan told everyone you ran away. Michael is freaking out,” she blurted out.
I froze. My stomach lurched.
“WHAT DID WHAT?” I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls.
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Stacy nodded. “People are whispering. Michael looks like he’s about to faint.”
I clenched my fists. My chest burned with rage. “It’s over. I’ve had enough.”
I reached up, ripped off my veil, and let my green-stained hair fall. The room filled with gasps. My bridesmaids stared at me, their eyes wide.
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Without another word, I stormed out. The dress was sticking to my skin; the paint was dry in some places and still dripping in others.
When I entered the church, heads turned. People whispered. My heart pounded, but I kept going.
Michael stood before the altar, his hands clenched and his face pale. He looked devastated.
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“I didn’t run away!” I shouted. My voice cut through the murmurs.
Michael raised his head. “Danica?” He rushed down the hall and pulled me into his arms.
Tears stinged my eyes, but I held them back. “Jordan poured green paint on me,” I said, taking a step back and pointing at my ruined dress. “Then he lied and told everyone I’d left.”
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Michael’s jaw tightened. He turned and scanned the room. “Jordan! Can you explain this to me?” His voice was high-pitched.
Jordan leaned back in his chair, smiling. “It was just a harmless joke,” he said with a shrug.
“That’s not a joke! Nobody’s laughing! We’re all on edge now,” Michael snapped.
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“Wow, bro, calm down,” Jordan said, mockingly.
Michael squared his shoulders. “I’m not five anymore. You have no control over me.”
Jordan laughed. “And yet here I am, at your wedding.”
“Get out!” I shouted, my voice shaking with rage.
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Jordan raised an eyebrow. “I was invited. I’m not leaving.”
Michael took a step forward. “Get out!” he repeated, his voice firm. “Or I’ll throw you out myself.”
“Michael, he’s your brother,” his mother intervened, abruptly standing up.
Michael turned to her. “If you support what he’s done, you can go too,” he said without hesitation.
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His mother’s face paled. “But Michael…” she began.
“Get out!” Michael ordered. His voice was final.
A tense silence filled the church. Her parents exchanged a glance, then took Jordan and left without another word.
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Michael turned to me, his eyes softening. He pulled me closer and rested his forehead against mine. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
I exhaled, feeling the weight of everything lift. “Thank you for standing up for me,” I said, my voice firm.
“From now on, always,” he promised.
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