My future brother-in-law was always a problem—rude, arrogant, and constantly pushing boundaries. But on my wedding day, he crossed a line we could never forgive. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning my perfect day into a nightmare. That was the last straw, and my fiancé finally had enough.
When Michael and I first started dating, everything felt like a fairy tale. Not the perfect kind, but the kind with unexpected twists and turns.
Yes, I cried on our first date because I was late. I had rushed into the restaurant, breathless and embarrassed, my hair a mess, and my dress slightly stained from the coffee I had spilled in my panic.
My eyes welled up as I tried to explain. “Traffic was terrible, I spilled my coffee all over my dress, and then my shoe broke! I’m so sorry!”
Michael just sat there, silent, clearly unsure of what to do. He awkwardly reached across the table and patted my hand. “Uh… it’s okay?”
We made it through dinner, but when he didn’t call me for a week, I assumed I had scared him off.
Then, we ran into each other at a mutual friend’s party. I explained myself, saying, “I’m just an emotional person. I promise I’m not always that dramatic!”
To my surprise, he smiled and said, “I get it. Honestly, I’m the same way.”
That party was six years ago, and we had been inseparable ever since. I was no longer crying alone over movies where animals died—Michael cried with me. He was my soulmate, and I knew he felt the same.
Our relationship moved quickly. After just three months, we moved in together, and that’s how we lived for six years. But somehow, we never got around to planning a wedding. There was always something—either I had a crisis, or Michael did—so we kept postponing it.
Then, eight months ago, Michael proposed. He planned everything so perfectly that I didn’t suspect a thing, making the moment even more special. Not that I needed a proposal to know I wanted to spend my life with him.
But, like with any couple, there was one problem. His family. More specifically—his brother, Jordan.
Jordan was awful. Rude, arrogant, and full of himself. He thought he was better than everyone, including Michael. He was only three years older, but he never missed a chance to remind Michael of it, acting like he was somehow wiser or more successful.
I still remember our first meeting. Michael took me to meet his parents, and since Jordan still lived with them—yes, even as an adult—he was there too. So much for being as “amazing” as he thought he was.
At first, everything seemed fine. We had a polite conversation. But when I stepped away to use the bathroom, Jordan was waiting by the door.
“Bored yet?” he asked, his voice low and smug.
I stiffened. “No, I’m fine,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but firm.
He chuckled. “Come on, let’s go have some fun,” he suggested, stepping closer.
I took a small step back. “No, really, I’m good.”
Jordan tilted his head. “Oh, come on. My brother doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’d have a much better time with me.”
Before I could react, he grabbed me by the waist. His hand slid lower, pressing against my backside.
“Get off me!” I shouted, shoving him away. My heart pounded as I rushed back to the dining room, my breath shaky.
Michael looked up as I approached. I placed a hand on my stomach, forcing a weak smile. “I don’t feel great. Can we leave?”
Michael stood immediately. “Of course.”
Once we were in the car, he asked, “Are you okay? Did you eat something bad?”
I took a deep breath. “Jordan hit on me.”
Michael’s hands tightened on the wheel. “What? That jerk! I’m going to talk to him.”
Michael did talk to Jordan, but Jordan laughed it off. He claimed he was just “testing me” as Michael’s older brother, as if that excused his behavior. I didn’t believe him for a second, but Michael didn’t push back.
Then the messages started. Inappropriate texts. Unwanted pictures. Disgusting words. I blocked his number.
When I told Michael I didn’t want Jordan at our wedding, he agreed right away. But his parents said if Jordan wasn’t invited, they wouldn’t come either.
“That’s not fair!” I cried.
Michael sighed. “I know. But… I don’t want to lose my parents.”
So we let him come.
On my wedding day, I was in the bridal room at the church, admiring my perfect dress. Then, there was a knock at the door.
I opened it, and there stood Jordan. Before I could react, he dumped a bucket of green paint all over me.
“This is for rejecting me, witch,” he sneered.
My beautiful white gown was ruined. My bridesmaids gasped in horror.
Jordan smirked and walked away.
Then, Stacy burst in. “Jordan told everyone you ran away! Michael is freaking out!”
“HE DID WHAT?!” I screamed.
Fueled by rage, I stormed into the church. People whispered. Michael stood at the altar, his face pale.
“I didn’t run away!” I shouted.
Michael’s head snapped up. “Danica?” He ran to me, pulling me into his arms.
“Jordan poured paint on me,” I said, gesturing to my ruined dress. “Then he lied and told everyone I left!”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “Jordan! Care to explain?!”
Jordan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “It was just a harmless joke.”
Michael took a step forward. “Get out!” His voice was sharp.
“Michael, he’s your brother,” his mother interjected.
Michael turned to her. “If you support what he did, you can leave too.”
Silence filled the church. His parents exchanged a glance, then grabbed Jordan and walked out.
Michael turned back to me, his eyes softening. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
I exhaled. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“From now on, always,” he promised.
