The Day My Little Brother Got Revenge at Dad’s Wedding
My name is Tessa, I’m 25 years old, and I work as a marketing coordinator. Life’s been weird lately. I’m still figuring out how to be a grown-up when your childhood ends way too soon.
One big reason for that? My family blew apart last year.
I have a little brother, Owen, who’s 12. He used to be the sweetest, most gentle kid I knew. He’d leave cookies out for delivery drivers. He cried during sad cartoon movies. He made sparkly cards for our mom that said things like:
“You’re the best mom in the whole universe!”
That was Owen. Pure sunshine in a small body.
But after everything that happened… that sunshine started to disappear.
It all began the day our mom walked in on Dad cheating.
Our dad’s name is Evan. He had an affair with a woman from his accounting firm named Dana—the kind of woman who always had perfect hair, blinding white teeth, and this fake giggle that made your skin crawl. Mom came home early one Thursday with a tiny plant from Home Depot. Dirt still on her hands. She was planning a surprise dinner.
Instead, she walked into the living room and found Dad and Dana on the couch.
She dropped the plant. It hit the floor and shattered into pieces. She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just turned and walked upstairs.
“Linda, I can explain,” Dad said, buttoning up his shirt.
She didn’t answer. Just silence.
What followed? It was chaos. Screaming. Crying. Doors slamming. Dad begging. Mom sobbing at the kitchen table. It went on for weeks.
One day she asked me, her eyes puffy from crying:
“Did you know? Did you see signs I missed?”
I didn’t. I wish I had. Maybe I could’ve warned her.
Mom tried to fix it. She prayed beside her bed every night. She went to therapy—alone, because Dad refused. She even wrote him letters. Love letters. Heartbreaking ones.
“22 years, Tessa,” she told me while folding his laundry. “We’ve been together since college. That has to mean something to him.”
But it didn’t.
Three weeks later, Dad served her divorce papers and moved in with Dana. Twenty-two years, just… gone. For a woman he’d known for eight months.
That first night, I remember Owen sitting in the dark whispering:
“Does Dad love her more than us?”
I wanted to tell him something smart, something wise. But all I could say was:
“He loves us, Owen. He’s just… confused right now.”
“Then why doesn’t he want to live with us anymore?” he asked.
I hugged him tightly. Kissed his forehead.
“I don’t know, buddy. I really don’t know.”
Mom fell apart. She lost 20 pounds. She lived on crackers and tea. She cried over everything—a coffee mug, a family commercial, a missing Tupperware lid.
Then, a year later, we got a phone call.
It was Dad. Tuesday evening. His voice was cheerful, like nothing had happened.
“Hey sweetheart! How’s work going?”
“Fine, Dad. What’s up?”
“Well, I wanted to let you know that Dana and I are getting married next month. Backyard wedding. Her sister’s house. Simple but nice. I want you and Owen there. It would mean the world to me to have my kids celebrating with us.”
I stood in the kitchen holding my phone, stunned.
“You want us at your wedding,” I repeated slowly.
“Of course! This is a new chapter for all of us. I’d love for you to be part of it.”
A new chapter. Like our family was just a rough draft he wanted to erase and rewrite.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Great! I’ll send the details. Love you, Tess!”
He hung up before I could respond.
When I told Owen, he didn’t even look up from his game.
“I don’t care if the Pope invited me,” he said. “I’m not going to watch Dad marry the woman who ruined our family.”
But then the grandparents got involved.
Dad’s parents called us. Guilt trip after guilt trip.
“Holding onto anger will only hurt you,” Grandma said.
“You kids need to show maturity,” Grandpa added.
“You’ll look bitter if you don’t go.”
Finally, after a few days, Owen sighed and gave in.
“Fine. I’ll come to the stupid wedding,” he said.
But there was something in his voice. Something… cold.
Two Weeks Before the Wedding
Owen came into my room holding his iPad.
“Tessa, can you order something from Amazon for me? I don’t have an account.”
“What is it?” I asked without really looking up.
He turned the screen to me. Itching powder. A prank thing you sprinkle on clothes. Makes your skin burn and itch like crazy.
“You trying to prank your friends?” I asked.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
I should’ve asked more questions. But I didn’t.
“Sure, I’ll order it,” I said, clicking Buy Now.
I had a feeling. A strong feeling. But I didn’t stop him. Because deep down, I wanted someone to feel what Mom felt.
The Day of the Wedding
We arrived early. Dana was floating around the backyard in a silk robe, laughing with her bridesmaids.
Dad spotted us.
“There are my kids! You both look so grown up,” he said, hugging us awkwardly.
“Thanks for coming. It means everything to me.”
Owen smiled at him.
“We wouldn’t miss it, Dad.”
There was a flatness in his voice. Dad didn’t notice, but I did.
About an hour before the ceremony, Owen walked up to Dana while she was fixing her lipstick.
He was holding a garment bag and smiled sweetly.
“Hi, Dana. You look really beautiful.”
She beamed.
“Thank you, Owen! That’s so sweet!”
“I saw your jacket on a chair. Do you want me to hang it up? So it doesn’t wrinkle?”
“That would be wonderful. You’re such a helpful young man.”
She handed him the white wedding jacket.
“I’ll take really good care of it,” Owen said, walking into the house.
He came back five minutes later, empty-handed.
“All set. It’s hanging up safely.”
“You’re an angel,” Dana said, ruffling his hair.
3:30 PM – Ceremony Time
Guests sat in white folding chairs. Flowers everywhere. Dana disappeared to get dressed. Owen sat next to me in the second row, hands folded.
“You good?” I whispered.
“Yeah. I’m good,” he said calmly.
The music started.
Dana walked down the aisle, glowing. Dad beamed. The officiant started talking about love and new beginnings.
But then…
Dana scratched her arm. Then her neck. Then her shoulder. Her smile began to wobble.
By the time they got to the vows, she looked miserable. She was squirming, tugging at her jacket, scratching both arms like crazy.
“Do you, Dana Michelle, take Evan Robert to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the officiant asked.
“I… yes, I do,” she answered, looking like she wanted to bolt.
“Are you okay, honey?” Dad whispered.
“I think… something’s wrong,” Dana said. “My skin is burning.”
She ripped at the jacket, trying to get it off. Then she ran into the house, followed by bridesmaids.
Everyone whispered. Aunt Rachel leaned over and asked her husband:
“Is she having an allergic reaction?”
Fifteen minutes later, Dana came back out—in a beige dress, makeup smudged, hair messy, red marks all over her skin.
“Sorry everyone!” she announced. “Just a little reaction. Let’s keep going!”
But the magic was gone. The photographer looked lost. The officiant stumbled through the rest.
At the reception, Dad pulled me aside.
“Tessa, do you have any idea what that was? Dana’s skin looked like it was on fire. She’s never had allergies before.”
I sipped my punch.
“Maybe the jacket fabric? Or detergent someone used?”
I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell him the truth.
“So weird,” he muttered. “Of all the days for something like that…”
“Yeah,” I said. “Unfortunate timing.”
On the Way Home
Owen stared out the window. Finally, he turned to me.
“She didn’t cry.”
“What?”
“Dana didn’t cry. She was embarrassed and itchy… but not crying. Mom cried for months.”
He paused.
“But she’ll remember this. Every time she thinks about her wedding, she’ll remember itching and running away in front of everyone. Just like Mom remembers catching them.”
I stared at him, stunned. My 12-year-old brother had just served up poetic justice.
“Do you feel bad?” I asked.
He thought for a second.
“No. I feel like things are a little more even now.”
Two Weeks Later
Dad won’t speak to us. He says we “ruined the most important day of his life.”
Dana’s family called us “evil children” who need therapy.
Our grandparents are furious. They say we embarrassed everyone and we owe apologies.
But I haven’t apologized. And I won’t.
I didn’t plan it. I didn’t pour the itching powder. But I didn’t stop it either. I just… let it happen.
Because in a world where our mother cried alone, and no one cared enough to stand up for her, I think that’s okay.
Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe I should’ve acted like an adult.
But when I remember Mom on the floor of the kitchen, wiping her tears with a dish towel… I just can’t feel guilty.
Am I wrong for letting Owen go through with it?
I honestly don’t know.
But I’m not sorry.
Not even a little.