I was only minutes away from walking down the aisle when a long black limousine rolled up to the gate. I barely glanced at it. I assumed it was one more guest running late. Then the door opened, my mother-in-law Larisa stepped out, and I could not say a single word.
She had chosen a long white lace dress that left her shoulders bare. From a few steps away it looked almost exactly like a wedding gown. Her hair was pinned up high, and on top of it sat a sheer white piece that looked so much like a short veil that a stranger would have taken her for the bride.
My friends went quiet. Nobody knew where to look.
Larisa walked over slowly, studied my dress from top to bottom and gave me the sweet, innocent smile I had learned to fear.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I picked a white dress just like yours by accident,” she said. “But that’s fine, isn’t it? Today we’ll look like best friends.”
Part of me wanted to grab that lace and rip it off her. But the ceremony was about to start, the guests were all around us and the photographer was already snapping away. So I smiled, said nothing and swallowed my anger.
I had no idea the dress was only the start.
All through the celebration, Larisa acted as if the whole day had been planned for her. Every time someone came to congratulate us, she stepped in first and did the talking. When guests told her how lovely she looked, she gave them a coy smile and said, “Thank you, I’ve been getting ready for this day for a long time too.”
When people handed us presents, she reached for them before I could, more than once, as if they were meant for her.
I kept my mouth shut. I did not want a scene at my own wedding. But the photo session pushed me past my limit.
The photographer asked my husband and me to stand under the flower arch. I was walking toward him when Larisa hurried over, slipped her arm through his and turned to the camera.
“Take ours first,” she said. “A mother and her son deserve beautiful pictures too.”
The photographer looked lost, but he started shooting. After a few frames I tried to step in, and she did not move an inch. She kept touching up her hair, smiling and holding on to my husband while I waited a few steps back like any other guest.
That was the moment I understood something. If I let this go today, it would follow me for the rest of my marriage.
So I went to my best friend and whispered a few words in her ear.
About ten minutes later we were all seated at the table. My friend walked past Larisa carrying a full glass of dark berry juice, pretended to stumble, and nearly all of it landed on that white lace.
Larisa shot up from her chair. “Do you even see what you’ve done?!”
Every head in the room turned.
I got up right away and made sure everyone heard me. “How could you?! That’s my mother-in-law’s dress!”
While my friend apologized over and over, I went to Larisa and gently took her hand.
“Come with me to the room,” I said. “If we clean it fast, the stain might still come out.”
She calmed down a little and followed me. In the room I helped her out of the dress and told her to wait while I took it down to the hotel laundry.
Then I stepped into the hallway with the dress in my arms and locked the door behind me.
I went straight back to my wedding.
For the next few hours, nobody saw Larisa. She called my husband several times, then me, but the music was loud and I simply let my phone ring.
Late in the evening she finally walked into the hall wearing clothes that clearly were not hers. She had borrowed them from someone on the hotel staff.
She marched up to me, her face bright red. “You locked me in on purpose, didn’t you?”
I looked her in the eye and answered quietly. “That’s for trying to ruin my wedding. Next time it will be worse.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then noticed the guests standing close by and said nothing.
For the first time that whole day, I felt completely calm.
