Excitement was in the air as Sarah drove to her mother-in-law’s house; her custom-made wedding dress had finally arrived. But when Patricia answered the door, standing confidently in the identical dress planned for Sarah’s big day and ignorant to the betrayal imprinted on Sarah’s face, her elation quickly changed to astonishment and rage.
My joy was overwhelming me as I made my way to my mother-in-law’s residence. My wedding gown had finally arrived, created to order. It seemed to be the final component needed to complete my ideal day.
This garment was an important component of the entire plan that my fiancé, James, and I had meticulously prepared. Since his mother lived closer to the store, I arranged for it to be transported to her home in order to save money. I had no idea what kind of horror I was in for.
Patricia, my mother-in-law, was a formidable lady. She was in her late fifties and exuded a sense of entitlement that frequently infuriated others. Her tongue was keen, and her feeling of importance even sharper.
Being the center of attention was Patricia’s favorite thing to do, and it had led to many arguments within the family. She was about to breach a boundary, though, that I could not ignore today.
I inhaled deeply as I parked in front of Patricia’s house. Anxiety was causing my heart to race. I pictured myself putting on my dress, experiencing the soft material on my skin, and witnessing my first moments as a bride. I was so excited that I could hardly knock on the door.
As soon as Patricia opened the door, my smile disappeared. She was wearing my wedding dress and was beaming from ear to ear. Although the garment was stunning, it appeared strained, with the seams pressing tightly against her body. It appeared as though she had been wandering around inside the train for hours since the bottom was covered with dust. My heart fell.
“You’re finally here!” Patricia yelled and spun around. Come quickly and snap my photo on Facebook. For my wedding anniversary post with your father-in-law, I need these. After that, if you’d like, you may take the outfit home. Still, it seems like a better match for me.
I was seeing things that I couldn’t believe. How could she have been so careless? I wore this outfit on my special day. I felt a surge of anger, but I pushed myself to remain composed. This was only the start of a conflict I never anticipated.
“Mom, what are you doing?” While trying not to panic, I asked.
“Oh, don’t be so greedy,” she dismissively waved back. “It’s only a dress. In addition, I believe it looks beautiful on me.”
“Please, please take it off,” I pleaded as my temper flared.
“Stop being absurd. I have not finished yet. “I’d like to see some pictures first,” she finally said.
Just as I was about to cry out, a thought suddenly occurred to me. I inhaled deeply while attempting to maintain my composure.
“You’re right,” I forced a grin and said. “Let’s take some pictures. But let me to get my phone before we get started. Its camera is superior.”
She smiled. “See, now you’re being reasonable.”
With my head spinning, I tried to get my phone. Despite my anger, I had to maintain my composure. I took my phone back and started taking photos.
She posed again and said, “How do I look?”
“Excellent,” I clenched my teeth in response. “Turn a little to the left.”
She obeyed my request and grinned broadly. Her enthusiasm radiating from her face, I snapped additional pictures.
“Try holding the bouquet,” I said, giving her a bundle of flowers that were picked from the garden. Though uneasy, she obeyed.
I said, “Maybe sit on the steps.” She had trouble sitting, so I took some more photos.
My head was racing with concepts. I wanted to make her appear as horrible as possible in the editing of these pictures. She would get what she deserved for these ridiculous antics.
Her expression was uncertain as she queried, “Are you sure these are good?”
“Definitely,” I replied, trying not to grin. “You’ll adore them. As soon as I get home, I will mail them to you.”
“Excellent,” she said, at last content. “I knew you’d come around.”
After taking a few more pictures, I assisted her in taking off the dress. I had finally gotten my wedding dress back, although a touch threadbare. I folded it gently and sealed it in the bag.
She added, “Thanks for letting me try it on,” without even a trace of regret in her voice. “I just couldn’t resist.”
“No problem,” I said in a tense voice. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
With the outfit in my hands and a plan starting to take shape, I departed from her home. It was unknown to her what would happen next.
As soon as I came home, I moved the pictures from my phone to my computer. Every picture served as a new reminder of my mother-in-law’s boldness. I launched my picture-editing program and went to work.
I started by adjusting the lighting to bring out every crease and imperfection. I then made her appear more fatigued by darkening the area beneath her eyes. I made the garment appear more tighter by emphasising the tension on the seams. I gave her complexion a little of a greenish tinge, just enough to give the impression that she wasn’t feeling well. I felt somewhat more satisfied with each adjustment.
After I was done, I examined the outcome. She seemed terrible—virtually unrecognizable. I ignored the tiny pang of remorse that was stirring within of me. It was time to teach her a lesson since she had gone too far.
I shared the pictures on my social media pages. I inhaled deeply as I composed the ideal caption: “My MIL is in need of prayers. She can’t stand to not be the center of attention, especially with my wedding approaching. I hope she feels well soon.”
I drank my tea calmly and watched as I pushed “post” and the alerts began to come in. Family and friends expressed astonishment and worry in their comments. I was aware that she wouldn’t see it for long.
It wasn’t too lengthy. Her name was showing on the screen as my phone rang. With a brace, I replied.
She cried out, “How dare you!” “Take those photos down right now!”
I didn’t lose my cool. “I will take them down, just like you took my wedding dress off when I asked you to.”
“You ungrateful little—”
“Mom,” I broke off, maintaining a steady tone. “You disregarded my requests. You may now relate to it. Perhaps the next time, you’ll reconsider before going too far.”
She was enraged and seething with anger, but I refused to back down. Eventually, she hung up, and I felt victorious.
I felt a surge of satisfaction rush through me as I sat there. I had done something I never believed I could do: I had defended myself. This was a pivotal moment in our relationship as well as for me. She would realize right now that I wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.
I was aware that this would probably cause a shift in our relationship, but it was long time. I felt empowered since boundaries had been established.
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