Lila was over the moon when Greta asked her to be maid of honor. But everything changed at the dress fitting—Greta suddenly turned cold. An icy comment, awkward silence, and then the unthinkable: Lila was uninvited from the wedding without explanation. Shattered and humiliated, she began digging for answers—only to uncover a shocking truth.
For more than ten years, Greta and I were practically inseparable. The kind of best friends who shared everything—from heartbreaks and triumphs to midnight takeout and spontaneous road trips.
Greta was always the striking one—tall, magnetic, effortlessly glamorous. I played the quieter role, content in her spotlight, never feeling the need to compete.
Over time, I’d put on weight—nothing drastic, just a slow change that didn’t bother me. And Greta had never seemed to care either.
So when she got engaged last winter and asked me to stand beside her as maid of honor, I felt that old warmth return.
“You have to do it,” she said tearfully. “You’re my person.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
But then the cracks appeared—subtle at first. At the bridal shop, Greta became distant, snappy. She dismissed my input with tight smiles and wouldn’t meet my eyes.
When I asked her about fabric colors, she muttered, “Some people don’t need to worry about clashing—they’re not the center of attention.”
I laughed nervously, chalking it up to wedding stress.
Later, I tried to reconnect. “Wine and chocolate strawberries back at my place?”
Greta scoffed. “I’m just going home.”
I watched her leave, confused but still hopeful. Maybe it was nothing.
Then came the wedding day. I arrived early, only to be intercepted by the coordinator.
“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “The bride asked that you not be let in.”
I was stunned. “That has to be a mistake—I’m in the wedding.”
“No, you’re not,” she said bluntly.
Greta soon appeared, glowing in her gown. I called out to her, sure she’d clear things up.
But she didn’t. Instead, she glared at me.
“There’s no mistake,” she said loudly. “You tried to ruin my wedding. You’re not welcome.”
Before I could respond, she called for security.
As I was escorted out, humiliated and confused, I noticed Brian—her ex from college—watching with a strange look. Like he knew something I didn’t.
In the days that followed, Greta ignored every message. The silence was louder than any argument.
Finally, she agreed to meet.
Fifteen minutes late, she arrived and barely acknowledged me.
“I need to know what happened,” I said gently. “Why did you think I was trying to sabotage your wedding?”
Her answer? Cold and calculated.
“You were trying to compete. You lost weight without telling me, and wore baggy clothes to hide it. You were trying to upstage me.”
I was floored. “I was working out to feel better about myself. It wasn’t about you.”
She leaned in, voice like ice. “You knew Brian was coming. And he once said he might ask you out after we broke up. I talked him out of it. So don’t pretend you’re innocent.”
It all clicked. The bitterness, the paranoia—this wasn’t about me. It was her insecurity talking.
“I wasn’t trying to take anything from you,” I said.
Her reply? “If you gain the weight back, you can stay in my life.”
That was the moment I saw Greta for who she really was. And I smiled.
“Sure,” I said—then walked away.
Over the next month, I hit the gym—not for revenge, but for me. Every drop of sweat, every rep, was a step toward reclaiming myself.
And once I felt ready, I decided to have a little fun.
I texted Greta: “Double date? You and your husband?”
She jumped at it—probably eager to show off her perfect life and see if I’d “let myself go.”
But when she arrived, she found me radiant in a sapphire dress, arm-in-arm with Brian.
Her smile vanished.
“Remember Brian?” I asked sweetly.
He grinned. “Nice to see you again, Greta.”
Her face turned crimson. “What is this? How dare you come here with him?”
I kept my cool. “Looking like what? Confident? Happy?”
“We’re DONE,” she shouted. “Our friendship is over!”
I met her rage with calm. “It ended a long time ago, Greta.”
She stormed out, dragging her husband along.
Brian turned to me, laughing. “That went smoother than I expected. Want to go on a real date sometime?”
I looked at him—the man who saw through Greta long ago—and smiled.
“I’d like that. A lot.”