A week before her wedding, she discovered her future MIL discreetly photographing her dress. Odd, but harmless—or so she thought.
On the big day, the church doors opened.
Her MIL strolled in wearing the same gown. However, no one could have predicted what the groom did next.
Do you know how some moments stay with you forever?
One of those moments was when I saw my wedding dress for the first time.
The creamy satin fabric reflected the light like water, and the exquisite lace sleeves appeared to be created by angels.
However, life has a habit of throwing curveballs when you least expect them.
Just a week before my wedding, I strolled into my bedroom to collect something and came to a complete halt.
My future mother-in-law was standing in front of my closet, phone in hand, taking shots of my dress like a paparazzi.
“What are you doing?” I inquired.
She turned around, full of kindness and smiles. You know the type of smile a salesperson offers you that doesn’t quite reach the eyes.
“Oh, honey, just a keepsake. It’s such a beautiful dress; I wanted to remember it.”
It was weird, sure, but I tried to shake it off.
Margaret had always been a touch outgoing, oversharing at dinner parties, pushing boundaries, and generally going overboard.
Overwhelming, too.
I had strong reservations about acquiring a nightmare MIL, but my fiancé Jake persuaded me that she meant well.
“Mom’s just enthusiastic,” he’d say, smiling patiently.
The following several days were a blur of last-minute planning mayhem. You know how it is: confirming vendors, finalizing seating charts, and ensuring Great Aunt Dorothy receives her gluten-free lunch.
Throughout it all, Margaret’s curiosity was on overdrive.
And it wasn’t just friendly chatter. It was specific.
Really specific.
“What shade is that lipstick you’re wearing?” she asked during our final dress fitting.
“What flowers are in your bouquet again?”
“How are you styling your hair? Up or down? Curls or sleek?”
“Are you wearing the pearl earrings or the diamond ones?”
When I mentioned it to Jake, he just rolled his eyes.
“That’s just Mom,” he said.
“She gets excited about weddings.
Remember how she was at my cousin’s?”
I remembered.
The wedding day approached with clarity. The chapel shone with soft candlelight and pastel blossoms. Music drifted down the aisle, like a hallowed whisper.
Everything was flawless—the kind of wonderful you see in magazines but never expect to happen to you.
I stood at the altar, palms trembling.
This time, however, it was from delight rather than nerves. I felt reassured when I caught Jake’s gaze across the altar.
Pastor Williams spoke about love and dedication in his warm voice. I felt like I was floating, hovering between the life I’d known and the one I was about to start.
The church doors opened with a slow, hefty creak.
I assumed it was a late visitor, possibly Uncle Fred, who was usually running behind.
But, when I turned to see who was approaching, I almost dropped my bouquet.
It was Margaret.
Wearing my dress.
Not just similar. Identical! The same ivory satin, the same delicate lace sleeves, probably the same pearl buttons marching down the back.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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