When I first met Michael, it wasn’t some fairytale or instant spark like in the movies. In fact, our first date nearly ended in disaster before it even began. I arrived late, frazzled and embarrassed, with coffee stains splattered across my blouse, one of my heels broken, and tears threatening to spill over from sheer frustration. Michael sat across from me at the restaurant table, watching me stumble through an apology that came out jumbled and desperate. I was certain I had ruined any chance with him.
We managed to get through dinner, but afterward, he didn’t call for a week. I assumed he had written me off as a lost cause. Then fate stepped in. We ran into each other again at a mutual friend’s party. That night, I explained my chaotic state on our first date, admitting that I was just someone overly emotional and trying too hard. Instead of laughing at me, he admitted he was the same way—just better at covering it up. That conversation shifted everything between us.
Six years later, we were inseparable. He wasn’t just my boyfriend—he was my partner in every way. If a movie made me cry, he cried right along with me. If life weighed heavy on me, he carried some of the burden too. Neither of us was flawless, but together, we felt unbreakable.
After only three months of dating, we moved in together. Over the years we built a life filled with routines, shared jokes, and countless small memories. Oddly enough, marriage wasn’t something we rushed into. Life kept getting in the way—jobs, family issues, the ordinary chaos—and the subject of a wedding kept being pushed aside.
Then, eight months ago, Michael completely surprised me with a proposal I never saw coming. He had planned every detail perfectly, and I cried so hard I could barely say yes. I had always known I wanted forever with him, ring or no ring, but the proposal made everything feel real. We set a date, started planning, and for the first time I let myself picture walking down the aisle, exchanging vows, and continuing to build a life together.
Everything seemed perfect—except for one shadow that followed us: Michael’s older brother, Jordan. From the moment I met him, he had been trouble. He was rude, arrogant, smug—carrying himself as though the world owed him something. Only three years older than Michael, yet he constantly reminded him of his “older brother” superiority.
The first time Michael took me to meet his parents, Jordan was there too, still living at home well into adulthood. At first he was polite enough, but his real personality surfaced quickly. When I excused myself to use the bathroom, he cornered me in the hallway.
“Bored yet?” he asked with a smirk.
I forced a polite smile. “No, I’m fine.”
“Come on, let’s go have some fun,” he said, stepping closer.
I shook my head, backing away. “No, really, I’m good.”
Jordan tilted his head, grin widening. “My brother doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’d have a much better time with me.” Before I could react, he wrapped his arm around my waist, his hand sliding where it never should have.
“Get off me!” I shouted, shoving him away. My heart raced as I hurried back to the dining room, forcing a smile and telling Michael I didn’t feel well. Once we got to the car, I broke down and told him what had happened.
Michael gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. Later, he confronted Jordan, but Jordan only laughed it off, saying he was “just testing me.” Michael didn’t push further, and I couldn’t shake the sense that, deep down, he was still intimidated by his brother.
Jordan didn’t stop there. He began sending inappropriate texts, even vile photos. I blocked him immediately, but I told Michael I didn’t want Jordan anywhere near our wedding. He agreed without hesitation.
But then came family pressure. A few weeks later, Michael came home with defeat written on his face. His parents had given him an ultimatum: invite Jordan, or they wouldn’t attend the wedding. The betrayal stung like a knife. I had been harassed, humiliated, and disrespected, and yet none of that mattered to them. All they cared about was appearances and including Jordan at all costs.
I wanted to put my foot down, but when I saw the anguish on Michael’s face, I softened. Reluctantly, I agreed—on one condition. His parents had to guarantee that Jordan would stay far away from me. Michael hugged me tight, whispering how grateful he was.
When the wedding day arrived, everything felt like the dream I had waited for. My bridesmaids helped me into my gown, adjusted my veil, and calmed my nerves as I gazed at myself in the mirror. I was anxious but happy, ready to marry the man I loved. Then came a knock at the door.
Thinking it was one of my bridesmaids, I opened it. Instead, it was Jordan—holding a bucket. Before I could move, he dumped its contents over me. Ice-cold, sticky liquid drenched my hair, my skin, and my dress. The smell hit instantly—paint. Bright green paint that oozed down the fabric I had spent months choosing.
“This is for rejecting me, witch,” he sneered before slamming the door shut behind him.
I collapsed into a chair, sobbing, as my bridesmaids rushed in, horrified. They tried blotting the paint, but it was useless. One ran off to find another dress while the others did their best to tuck my ruined hair beneath the veil.
Minutes dragged by. Beyond the doors, I could hear the murmurs of the waiting guests. Then one bridesmaid burst back into the room, clutching a backup dress, panting from the rush. “Jordan told everyone you ran away,” she said. “Michael is panicking.”
Fury burned hotter than my heartbreak. Enough was enough. I ripped off my veil, letting my paint-streaked hair fall freely, and stormed out of the bridal room. Gasps rippled through the crowd as I strode down the aisle, my ruined dress clinging to me, but I no longer cared.
“I didn’t run away!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the church.
Michael’s head snapped up. Relief washed over his face as he ran to me. “Danica?” He pulled me into his arms.
“Jordan did this,” I said, motioning to my paint-soaked gown. “And then he told everyone I’d left.”
Michael spun around, his voice sharp as a blade. “Jordan! Care to explain yourself?”
Jordan leaned back in his seat with a smug grin. “Relax, little brother. It was just a joke.”
“No one is laughing,” Michael snapped. His entire body trembled with rage. “Get out.”
Jordan smirked wider. “I’m not leaving. I was invited.”
“Then I’ll throw you out myself,” Michael shot back. His parents immediately stood, rushing to defend Jordan. But Michael turned to them with steel in his eyes. “If you support what he did, then you can leave too.”
The church fell silent. At last, his parents grabbed Jordan by the arm and dragged him out.
Michael turned back to me, his expression softening. He cupped my face gently, leaning his forehead against mine. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
Tears blurred my vision, but I smiled through them. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“From now on,” he said firmly, “always.”