Growing up, my parents always favored my sister, Melissa, and it seemed to stay that way for years. I never imagined they’d go as far as insisting she walk down the aisle first at my wedding — in a white dress, no less. But my fiancé and I had a plan, and we agreed with smiles, setting the stage for a trap they didn’t see coming.
From a young age, it was clear: Melissa was the golden child. Every birthday, every family outing, every small decision revolved around her. Even when it was my turn, I was always an afterthought. If I ever voiced a preference, it was ignored in favor of what Melissa wanted. I learned quickly not to argue. The louder I spoke, the more they turned a blind eye.
In high school, things got worse. After Melissa’s popularity faded, she turned her bitterness toward me. She fabricated lies — accusing me of stealing from her and causing problems I didn’t create. My parents always sided with her, and even my friendships were destroyed under her false accusations. My teenage years were marked by isolation, but I held onto the hope that one day, I’d escape.
That day came when I earned a full scholarship to a college far away. There, I finally found my voice and my own happiness. It was in college that I met Ryan. Two years later, he proposed, and for once, I didn’t care what anyone else thought.
We planned a small wedding, but then my parents called offering help. I should’ve known better. When we sat down to discuss details, they had a condition: Melissa would walk down the aisle first. They wanted her to have her own dress, bouquet, and photos — her “moment.” I was stunned, but Ryan gave me a reassuring look. We agreed, and I silently vowed to let them dig their own hole.
We played along, letting Melissa take charge of the wedding details. Ryan quickly devised a plan, and by the time the wedding day arrived, we were ready.
The big day came, and everything was perfect — until Melissa showed up, late and smug, in a gown that probably cost more than the entire wedding. She was met with a security guard at the entrance who informed her that she wasn’t on the guest list. She threw a fit, but we couldn’t hear the chaos outside.
Inside, the music started, and I walked down the aisle with Ryan’s father, heart racing with a mix of nerves and satisfaction. I could hear whispers from the guests: “Where’s her sister?” and “Wasn’t there supposed to be a double wedding?”
Meanwhile, outside, Melissa was throwing a tantrum, crying and screaming as my parents tried to intervene. They were furious, demanding answers as Ryan coolly responded, “You never had it in writing.”
At the reception, we enjoyed the cake and champagne, both paid for by my parents, all while knowing the whispers of the town had already spread far and wide.
Later that week, as we prepared for our honeymoon, Melissa sent me a message filled with threats and bitterness. I showed Ryan, and he dropped it into the family group chat without saying a word, letting everyone see it.
It was over. The trap had been set, and justice was sweet.