When I saw my stepmother Linda arranging the wedding flowers like she was the bride, I knew she was gearing up for drama. She always had a flair for stealing the spotlight—birthdays, holidays, even funerals. Today, of course, she had her sights set on my wedding.
“Everything has to be perfect,” she chirped, as my father beamed at her theatrics. I forced a smile, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was planning something big—something outrageous. And I was right.
Later that day, my wedding planner pulled me aside. “Linda asked to sit in the front row and give a speech,” she said. My heart sank. That seat was reserved for my late mother. Linda knew that. But she didn’t care—she never did.
At home, I vented to Tom, my fiancé. “She’s trying to turn my wedding into her stage,” I said. He gave me a calming hug and whispered, “Don’t worry. I have a plan. Just trust me.” I didn’t know what he meant—but I was about to find out in the most shocking way…