Three days before my sister’s wedding, her future mother-in-law made a Facebook post that sent my sister into a furious spiral. Was it just an innocent mistake by a tech-challenged mom, or was there something more deliberate at play?
For three days, my phone didn’t stop buzzing. Dozens of missed calls, countless text messages, and endless social media notifications — welcome to what everyone in our family was now calling “The Wedding Dress Incident.”
Sitting in my kitchen, I stared at my now-cold coffee, unable to comprehend how everything had unraveled so quickly.
It all started a week ago while I was swamped at work, knee-deep in spreadsheets, when Jazmin’s frantic call broke my concentration.
“DAWN!” Her voice was breathless, panicked.
“Look what she did!
I can’t believe it. Why would she do this to me?
She RUINED MY WEDDING!”
I held the phone away from my ear. “Who?
What happened?”
“Addison!
My future MIL! Go check her Facebook right now!”
Addison was the kind of woman who would bake cookies for everyone on the block and believed the internet was almost magical. The most tech-savvy thing she’d done was attempt to share her sugar cookie recipe on a family Zoom by holding it up to the webcam.
I assumed whatever happened was likely a well-meaning blunder.
I quickly pulled up her profile, and there it was: Addison’s new profile picture.
She was beaming in a dress that could have been mistaken for Jazmin’s wedding gown — identical down to the sweetheart neckline and intricate lace.
“Jazz, calm down. You know Addison is barely aware of how social media works.
Remember when she tried to grocery shop by commenting on a store’s Facebook page?”
“Don’t defend her!” Jazmin snapped. “Look at the comments.
‘Addison, you look stunning!’ ‘Age is just a number!’ She’s basking in it.
Did you see Aunt Margaret’s comment? ‘That dress suits you better than it would a younger bride.’ I’m going to scream!”
I rubbed my temples. “Maybe she thought it was a private post or meant it as a tribute—”
“I can’t wear that dress now, Dawn.
Everyone’s seen her in it first,” Jazmin said, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Maybe… maybe she shouldn’t come to the wedding.”
“You can’t just uninvite Tim’s mom days before the wedding!”
“Watch me.”
There was a pause — the dangerous silence of her ‘I have an idea’ moment, which never ended well. The same silence that preceded her dyeing her hair purple before senior photos or teaching our mom’s parrot to swear in Spanish.
“Or… I could fix this another way,” she said slowly.
“Jazmin, no—”
“Tim once said she uses the same password for everything.
Mr.Whiskers1962. Can you believe that?”
“Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking, right now.”
But she had already hung up.
For the next hour, I bombarded her with texts, urging her to reconsider.
Silence.
I even tried Tim’s phone, but he was likely stuck in tax season meetings.
By midnight, notifications from family members poured in: “Did you see Addison’s profile?” “OMG, was she hacked?” “What’s up with that bikini pic from the ‘90s?”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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