Claire just wants to be the glamorous mother-of-the-groom—but when she realizes that her daughter-in-law has her own plans for the wedding, she steps back to focus on her own outfit, only for there to be a fight between her and Alice on the big day. Alice claims that Claire has destroyed the wedding by stealing her dream dress, while Claire sees nothing wrong in her actions. Who is wrong?
All I wanted was to be the mother-of-the-groom. That’s it. I just wanted to be the doting mother who loved her son more than anything—but this is the story of how my attempt to make my son’s wedding perfect turned into a day we’d all rather forget.
When Mark introduced Alice to us, she was unlike anyone I expected him to fall for. Mark, my son, is a lawyer at a top firm—a position that he secured straight after his graduation from Stanford.
“I’m going to be a lawyer, Mom,” he told me once when he was still in high school and doing an essay on the career he wanted to get into.
“I could easily see that,” I told him, making him breakfast as he worked away.
“It’s to help fight injustices. For children, specifically,” he said, drinking his orange juice.
Mark had big dreams, and I knew that my son was always going to reach for the stars.
Alice, on the other hand, was completely different from my son. Her entire personality was light and carefree, whereas Mark was serious and brooding. Alice was a self-taught coder, who freelanced from their cozy apartment. Their worlds, their politics, their interests didn’t align.
But they made it work—and they were a sweet couple for the most part. But love, as they say, is blind.
When Mark proposed to Alice, we were all invited to the scene to help surprise her.
“Please, Mom,” Mark said on the phone. “Alice isn’t close to her family, so to see you and Dad there will be good for her. She’ll know that she’s welcomed and supported.”
“Of course, honey,” I told him, already envisioning their wedding in my head.
I swallowed my reservations and offered to pay for the wedding. James and I had put money away for Mark’s studies, but he had always gotten bursaries which paid for it all.
“We can just use that money for the wedding, Claire,” my husband said over lunch the day after the proposal.
“It’s the best thing we could do for them,” I agreed. “This way they can save up to move out of that small apartment. I know Mark’s been talking about a house with a garden because he really wants a dog.”
When we told Mark and Alice, I thought that the gesture would bring us closer. I didn’t have any daughters, so I thought that this would be my chance.
I could get to know Alice better—and that would be good for Mark, to know that his wife and his mother got along well. Instead, the wedding planning only highlighted our differences.
After a few months into the wedding planning, I met Alice at a coffee shop so that we could go over the details. But we clashed on everything.
“I think roses are timeless,” I said, helping myself to a slice of cake.
“They are, but they’re also overdone in a sense,” Alice said, sipping her tea. “Mark and I want peonies.”
Our meeting went back and forth a few times—and we were stuck in a space where we just couldn’t agree on anything.
“Okay, how about this?” I asked her. “You go ahead with everything else, and just tell me what color your bridesmaids are wearing, so that there won’t be any clashes.”
“They won’t be wearing green,” she said. “I’m leaning toward pink.”
I paid the bill and we parted ways with the wedding planning.
But then, one afternoon Alice texted me.
Hi Claire, just picking out my wedding dress with the girls! I’m so excited! I wish you were here!
Attached were photos of her five top wedding dress picks.
I knew that Alice and I were on different ends of what we thought that the wedding should look like, but I wanted to be included in the big things. I wished that she had included me in the wedding dress shopping.
“At least she’s sending you the top picks,” James said as he read the newspaper next to me.
“I know, but it’s not the same,” I said.
“Do they look good?” he asked. “Can I see them?”
Together, we scrolled through the photos of the potential dresses. They were adequate choices, but nothing stood out.
Nothing that would fit the standard of my future daughter-in-law.
The dress that was Alice’s favorite and the first contender for the actual wedding dress wasn’t what I expected.
I typed back, telling Alice that it wasn’t quite the best choice. And I hoped that my financial stake in the wedding would weigh in. James and I hadn’t given the kids a budget. They had everything at their disposal.
Why not consider the second one? It might be more flattering for you.
James chuckled beside me.
“You’re at the point of over-stepping,” he said.
Before I could say anything, my phone pinged with a message from Alice.
Sorry, but I disagree. This is the dress I’m choosing.
That night over dinner, as James was plating our salmon, I shared my frustration with him.
“Alice is not even considering my opinion, and I’m paying for the dress!” I exclaimed.
James tried to mediate; he also texted Mark to make sure that he knew how I felt, too.
“I think you should just leave the wedding planning to them now,” James said. “Put all your attention into yourself and what you’re going to wear.”
But it also turned out that Mark was able to persuade Alice to wear the dress I preferred.
I had to admit, it was the less stressful option, and I hadn’t been able to shop for my dress before that.
So, that’s what I did.
I went to a few different boutiques and eventually found my perfect dress. It was emerald green, which I knew brought out my eyes.
“That’s beautiful,” James said when I tried the dress on for him.
I had felt different. I no longer felt like the mother-of-the-groom who had been pushed aside. Instead, I felt beautiful in my own skin, my self-esteem growing every time I thought of the dress.
When the wedding week loomed upon us, James and I tried to make ourselves as present as possible. We went to all the events that Mark and Alice needed us to be at—including the rehearsal dinner where we saluted them and drank champagne to toast the festivities.
“All sorted, Mom?” Mark asked me. “Your dress and everything?”
I smiled at my son. Despite being in the middle of Alice and me, he was always checking in on me.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m ready to celebrate you and Alice.”
On the morning of the wedding, I put on my green dress and did my make up. It was everything I had wanted to look for my son’s wedding—elegant and sophisticated.
As I arrived at the venue, the air was thick with murmurs. I ignored them, thinking that everyone was just so used to me being dressed in comfortable clothing, that this was something different for them.
I went straight to the bride’s dressing room, hoping to see Alice and compliment her before she walked down the aisle.
Upon opening the door, Alice looked up—her joyful expression collapsing into one of utter devastation. She looked me up and down before bursting into tears.
“Why did you do this to me, Claire?” she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion.
Confused, I stepped into the room and closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“Your dress!” she exclaimed.
“What about it?” I asked, second-guessing everything.
“It’s my dream wedding dress, just in another color,” she said, nearly shouting.
I was taken aback.
“Alice, honestly,” I said. “I didn’t realize—they look so different in color.”
But Alice wasn’t having any of it. She sat on the edge of the couch, her head in her hands.
“How could you?” she looked up and cried out. “You’ve made this day about you! Just because we didn’t take any of your suggestions!”
Mark, having heard the commotion from his dressing room next door, came rushing in.
“Mom? What’s going on here?” he asked me.
He looked from Alice to me, seeking an explanation.
Trying to calm the waters, I explained everything slowly.
“I didn’t see the resemblance, Mark,” I said. “I truly just loved the dress, and I thought—”
Alice stood up and marched toward Mark.
“No!” she exclaimed. “You thought that you’d show me what I could’ve had, but in green. Isn’t that it?”
“Mom, please,” my son said. “Let’s just try to get through the day. Please, for me.”
I agreed and left the dressing room. I just wanted to find James and sit quietly until the day was over.
I knew that Alice and I were walking a thin line, but I didn’t expect her to shout at me in the manner that she did.
Naturally, I was upset, but I didn’t want to ruin their day any further.
Reflecting now, perhaps I should have been more open to Alice’s preferences. It was her day after all, not just mine to orchestrate. The question of whether I was wrong hangs heavily over me.
Yes, in trying to enforce my vision, I might have lost sight of what was truly important—Alice’s happiness and Mark’s peace on their special day.
Was I wrong for what I did?
I Got a Secret Camera Recording from My Husband’s Secretary — The Footage Completely Shook My World
I stared at the attached video file, my cursor hovering over it. Taking a deep breath, I clicked play.
The grainy security footage showed Joseph’s office on a Sunday.
My brow furrowed. He never worked weekends.
Then I saw him walk in, but he wasn’t alone. Two small children, a boy and a girl, clung to his hands.
“Daddy, can we play hide and seek?” the little girl’s voice rang out.
Joseph’s laughter filled the room. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s see who can hide from Daddy the best!”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
DADDY??
Joseph and I didn’t have any kids. And these weren’t just random kids. They were HIS.
The video continued, showing Joseph playing with the children, helping them with coloring books, and sharing snacks. It was a side of him I’d never seen… tender, paternal, completely at ease.
“Daddy, when can we go to the beach house?” the little boy asked, his voice full of excitement.
Joseph ruffled his hair. “Soon, buddy. I promise it’ll be the best surprise ever.”
My heart shattered into a million pieces. Beach house? What beach house?
The video ended, and I sat in stunned silence. My phone buzzed, jolting me back to reality. It was a text from Joseph.
“Hey sugar, running late at the gym. Don’t wait up! 😘”
I threw my phone across the room, hot tears streaming down my face. “You lying pervert!” I sobbed.
The next morning, I woke up with puffy eyes and a pounding headache. Joseph had already left for work, leaving a note on the kitchen counter:
“Sorry, I missed you this morning. Hope you have a great day! Love you! Mwaaaah! ;)”
I crumpled the note in my fist. How could he act so normal? How long had he been living this double life?
I called my best friend, Lisa. “Can you come over? I need you,” I choked out.
Twenty minutes later, Lisa was at my door. “Bridget, what happened? You look terrible!”
I pulled her inside and spilled everything. Lisa listened, her eyes widening with each word.
“That lying, cheating jerk!” she exclaimed. “What are you going to do?”
I shook my head, feeling lost. “I don’t know. I can’t even think straight.”
Lisa grabbed my shoulders. “Listen to me, Bridget. You need to be smart about this. Don’t confront him yet. We need a plan.”
“A plan?” I laughed bitterly. “Lisa, my entire life is a lie. What kind of plan could possibly fix this?”
“Not to fix it, Bridge. To make him pay.”
I nodded, suddenly seeing things in a new light.
Over the next few days, I played the role of the unsuspecting wife perfectly. But every “I love you” from Joseph felt like a knife twisting in my gut.
One evening, as we sat down for dinner, I plastered on a smile. “Hey, I was thinking we could go to Antonio’s on Friday. You know, that new Italian place?”
Joseph’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great! I’ve been wanting to try it.”
“Perfect! I’ll make the reservations.”
As soon as Joseph left for work the next day, I sprang into action. I hired a private investigator and gave him all the information I had.
Within 48 hours, I had a name: Miranda. Joseph’s other woman. The mother of his children.
I stared at her picture on my laptop screen. She was beautiful, with long red hair and a warm smile. The kids looked just like her. Just like Joseph.
“Oh, Joseph,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Why wasn’t I enough?”
And soon, Friday night arrived. Joseph looked handsome in his casuals, completely oblivious to what was coming.
“You look beautiful,” he said, kissing my cheek. I forced myself not to flinch.
“Thanks! Shall we go?”
As we walked into Antonio’s, I scanned the room. There she was — Miranda, sitting at a table with her two kids.
Joseph froze when he saw her. “Go on, darling! Don’t you want to meet… her?” I cooed.
“What… what’s going on?” he stammered.
I grabbed his arm, my nails digging into his skin. “Why don’t we join your other family for dinner, dear?”
Miranda’s eyes widened as we approached. “Joseph? What’s happening?”
I smiled coldly. “Hello, Miranda. I’m Bridget, Joseph’s wife. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
The color drained from Joseph’s face. “Bridget, I can explain—”
“Save it,” I snapped, turning to Miranda. “Did you know about me, girl?”
Miranda shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “No, I… I had no idea.”
I nodded, a strange calm settling over me. “Well, now we both know the truth.”
The next hour was a blur of accusations, tears, and broken dreams. Joseph tried to explain, to apologize, but his words fell on deaf ears.
“How could you do this to us?” Miranda sobbed. “To our children?”
Joseph reached for her hand, then mine. We both recoiled. “I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded. “I love you both. I love all of you.”
I laughed. “Love? You call this love? You’ve been lying to us for years!”
“How long?” Miranda demanded. “How long have you been married to her?”
Joseph’s shoulders slumped. “Twelve years.”
Miranda gasped. “But… but we’ve been together for seven years. Our kids…”
“Are six and four,” I finished for her. “Quite a juggling act you’ve been doing, Joseph.”
I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I think we’re done here.” I pulled out a manila envelope and dropped it in front of Joseph.
“These are divorce papers. I suggest you sign them quickly.”
As I walked out of the restaurant, I heard Joseph calling after me. “Bridget, please! I love you!”
“No, Joseph. You don’t get to say that anymore.”
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of lawyers, paperwork, and difficult conversations. I threw myself into the divorce proceedings, determined to come out on top.
One day, my lawyer called with some hot news. “Bridget, we found something interesting. It seems Joseph has been squirreling away money to buy a beach house.”
I laughed bitterly. “Let me guess, a surprise for Miranda and the kids?”
“Most likely,” he replied. “But here’s the thing… it’s still in both your names. We can use this.”
A plan began to form in my mind. “Tell me more.”
My lawyer outlined the legal complexities, fueling my determination with every detail. Joseph had taken everything from me — my trust, my future, my dreams of a family.
Now, it was time for me to take something back.
The final divorce hearing arrived. Joseph looked haggard, the weight of his lies finally showing on his face.
As we waited outside the courtroom, he approached me. “Bridget, can we talk? Please?”
I crossed my arms. “What could you possibly have to say?”
“I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I truly am sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since that fateful video. “You’re right, Joseph. It doesn’t change anything. But thank you for finally being honest.”
Inside the courtroom, as the judge read through our settlement, Joseph’s eyes widened at each asset I was awarded. When she got to the beach house, he couldn’t contain himself.
“But that was supposed to be—” he cut himself off, realizing his mistake.
I smiled sweetly. “Supposed to be what, Joseph? A love nest for your secret family?”
The judge frowned. “Mr. Thompson, is there something you’d like to add?”
Joseph slumped in his chair, defeated. “No, Your Honor.”
As we left the courthouse, I felt a weight lift off my heart. It wasn’t just about the money or the assets. It was about reclaiming my dignity and my self-respect.
I walked away, leaving behind the shattered remains of our marriage and the man I thought I knew. As I stepped into the sunlight, I took a deep breath. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a sliver of hope.
My phone buzzed with a text from Lisa: “How did it go?”
“It’s over! And I’m finally free!🥲”
Walking down the courthouse steps, I realized this wasn’t just an ending. It was a beginning. A chance to rebuild, to rediscover myself, and to create a new life… one built on honesty, strength, and self-love.
The road ahead would be tough, but I was ready. After all, I had survived the worst betrayal imaginable. Whatever came next, I knew I could handle it. 😎
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