Claire just wants to be the glamorous mother-of-the-groom—but when she realizes that her daughter-in-law has her own plans for the wedding, she steps back to focus on her own outfit, only for there to be a fight between her and Alice on the big day. Alice claims that Claire has destroyed the wedding by stealing her dream dress, while Claire sees nothing wrong in her actions. Who is wrong?
All I wanted was to be the mother-of-the-groom. That’s it. I just wanted to be the doting mother who loved her son more than anything—but this is the story of how my attempt to make my son’s wedding perfect turned into a day we’d all rather forget.
When Mark introduced Alice to us, she was unlike anyone I expected him to fall for. Mark, my son, is a lawyer at a top firm—a position that he secured straight after his graduation from Stanford.
“I’m going to be a lawyer, Mom,” he told me once when he was still in high school and doing an essay on the career he wanted to get into.
“I could easily see that,” I told him, making him breakfast as he worked away.
“It’s to help fight injustices. For children, specifically,” he said, drinking his orange juice.
Mark had big dreams, and I knew that my son was always going to reach for the stars.
Alice, on the other hand, was completely different from my son. Her entire personality was light and carefree, whereas Mark was serious and brooding. Alice was a self-taught coder, who freelanced from their cozy apartment. Their worlds, their politics, their interests didn’t align.
But they made it work—and they were a sweet couple for the most part. But love, as they say, is blind.
When Mark proposed to Alice, we were all invited to the scene to help surprise her.
“Please, Mom,” Mark said on the phone. “Alice isn’t close to her family, so to see you and Dad there will be good for her. She’ll know that she’s welcomed and supported.”
“Of course, honey,” I told him, already envisioning their wedding in my head.
I swallowed my reservations and offered to pay for the wedding. James and I had put money away for Mark’s studies, but he had always gotten bursaries which paid for it all.
“We can just use that money for the wedding, Claire,” my husband said over lunch the day after the proposal.
“It’s the best thing we could do for them,” I agreed. “This way they can save up to move out of that small apartment. I know Mark’s been talking about a house with a garden because he really wants a dog.”
When we told Mark and Alice, I thought that the gesture would bring us closer. I didn’t have any daughters, so I thought that this would be my chance.
I could get to know Alice better—and that would be good for Mark, to know that his wife and his mother got along well. Instead, the wedding planning only highlighted our differences.
After a few months into the wedding planning, I met Alice at a coffee shop so that we could go over the details. But we clashed on everything.
“I think roses are timeless,” I said, helping myself to a slice of cake.
“They are, but they’re also overdone in a sense,” Alice said, sipping her tea. “Mark and I want peonies.”
Our meeting went back and forth a few times—and we were stuck in a space where we just couldn’t agree on anything.
“Okay, how about this?” I asked her. “You go ahead with everything else, and just tell me what color your bridesmaids are wearing, so that there won’t be any clashes.”
“They won’t be wearing green,” she said. “I’m leaning toward pink.”
I paid the bill and we parted ways with the wedding planning.
But then, one afternoon Alice texted me.
Hi Claire, just picking out my wedding dress with the girls! I’m so excited! I wish you were here!
Attached were photos of her five top wedding dress picks.
I knew that Alice and I were on different ends of what we thought that the wedding should look like, but I wanted to be included in the big things. I wished that she had included me in the wedding dress shopping.
“At least she’s sending you the top picks,” James said as he read the newspaper next to me.
“I know, but it’s not the same,” I said.
“Do they look good?” he asked. “Can I see them?”
Together, we scrolled through the photos of the potential dresses. They were adequate choices, but nothing stood out.
Nothing that would fit the standard of my future daughter-in-law.
The dress that was Alice’s favorite and the first contender for the actual wedding dress wasn’t what I expected.
I typed back, telling Alice that it wasn’t quite the best choice. And I hoped that my financial stake in the wedding would weigh in. James and I hadn’t given the kids a budget. They had everything at their disposal.
Why not consider the second one? It might be more flattering for you.
James chuckled beside me.
“You’re at the point of over-stepping,” he said.
Before I could say anything, my phone pinged with a message from Alice.
Sorry, but I disagree. This is the dress I’m choosing.
That night over dinner, as James was plating our salmon, I shared my frustration with him.
“Alice is not even considering my opinion, and I’m paying for the dress!” I exclaimed.
James tried to mediate; he also texted Mark to make sure that he knew how I felt, too.
“I think you should just leave the wedding planning to them now,” James said. “Put all your attention into yourself and what you’re going to wear.”
But it also turned out that Mark was able to persuade Alice to wear the dress I preferred.
I had to admit, it was the less stressful option, and I hadn’t been able to shop for my dress before that.
So, that’s what I did.
I went to a few different boutiques and eventually found my perfect dress. It was emerald green, which I knew brought out my eyes.
“That’s beautiful,” James said when I tried the dress on for him.
I had felt different. I no longer felt like the mother-of-the-groom who had been pushed aside. Instead, I felt beautiful in my own skin, my self-esteem growing every time I thought of the dress.
When the wedding week loomed upon us, James and I tried to make ourselves as present as possible. We went to all the events that Mark and Alice needed us to be at—including the rehearsal dinner where we saluted them and drank champagne to toast the festivities.
“All sorted, Mom?” Mark asked me. “Your dress and everything?”
I smiled at my son. Despite being in the middle of Alice and me, he was always checking in on me.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m ready to celebrate you and Alice.”
On the morning of the wedding, I put on my green dress and did my make up. It was everything I had wanted to look for my son’s wedding—elegant and sophisticated.
As I arrived at the venue, the air was thick with murmurs. I ignored them, thinking that everyone was just so used to me being dressed in comfortable clothing, that this was something different for them.
I went straight to the bride’s dressing room, hoping to see Alice and compliment her before she walked down the aisle.
Upon opening the door, Alice looked up—her joyful expression collapsing into one of utter devastation. She looked me up and down before bursting into tears.
“Why did you do this to me, Claire?” she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion.
Confused, I stepped into the room and closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“Your dress!” she exclaimed.
“What about it?” I asked, second-guessing everything.
“It’s my dream wedding dress, just in another color,” she said, nearly shouting.
I was taken aback.
“Alice, honestly,” I said. “I didn’t realize—they look so different in color.”
But Alice wasn’t having any of it. She sat on the edge of the couch, her head in her hands.
“How could you?” she looked up and cried out. “You’ve made this day about you! Just because we didn’t take any of your suggestions!”
Mark, having heard the commotion from his dressing room next door, came rushing in.
“Mom? What’s going on here?” he asked me.
He looked from Alice to me, seeking an explanation.
Trying to calm the waters, I explained everything slowly.
“I didn’t see the resemblance, Mark,” I said. “I truly just loved the dress, and I thought—”
Alice stood up and marched toward Mark.
“No!” she exclaimed. “You thought that you’d show me what I could’ve had, but in green. Isn’t that it?”
“Mom, please,” my son said. “Let’s just try to get through the day. Please, for me.”
I agreed and left the dressing room. I just wanted to find James and sit quietly until the day was over.
I knew that Alice and I were walking a thin line, but I didn’t expect her to shout at me in the manner that she did.
Naturally, I was upset, but I didn’t want to ruin their day any further.
Reflecting now, perhaps I should have been more open to Alice’s preferences. It was her day after all, not just mine to orchestrate. The question of whether I was wrong hangs heavily over me.
Yes, in trying to enforce my vision, I might have lost sight of what was truly important—Alice’s happiness and Mark’s peace on their special day.
Was I wrong for what I did?
I Couldn’t Understand Why My Mother-in-Law Hated Me until I Found Her Letters in My House’s Attic – Story of the Day
During a visit to her mother-in-law, Macy endures relentless mocking of her cooking, appearance, and how she treats her husband. When she finally stands up for herself, she becomes the villain. However, an unexpected find in her father’s house reveals reasons behind it all, changing her perspective.
On an empty road on a sunny holiday evening, a car cruised along. Inside, behind the wheel, was Chandler, a cheerful man with a perpetual smile on his face.
He was steering with one hand while carefully scrolling through his playlist with the other.
Concentrated on two tasks, his gaze constantly shifted between the road and the player. The bright sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on his face.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Next to him sat his wife, Macy. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her eyes stared straight ahead, avoiding Chandler.
Her face was a picture of irritation, her lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in the car was palpable, almost as if a cloud of unease hung over them.
After what seemed like ages, Chandler finally settled on a song. “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver filled the car.
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Chandler’s smile widened, and he nodded his head in time with the music.
“Almost Heaven…” he began to sing, glancing at Macy, hoping she would join in. His voice was warm and inviting, filled with the hope that the music might lighten her mood.
But Macy remained silent, her eyes fixed firmly on the passing scenery outside. Her irritation only seemed to deepen.
Seeing her reaction, Chandler, undeterred, turned up the volume a little, the familiar tune growing louder.
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Macy’s face tightened, and she turned away even more, pressing herself against the car door as if trying to escape the sound.
“Turn it down…” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the music.
Chandler wasn’t ready to give up. He took a deep breath and sang even louder, “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…”
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He looked at Macy with a wide grin, trying to draw her into the song, hoping his enthusiasm would be contagious.
Macy’s patience snapped. With a swift, angry motion, she reached out and turned off the player. The car fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The tension thickened, filling the space between them like a dense fog.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
Chandler asked, his voice filled with concern and a hint of confusion. He kept his eyes on the road but occasionally glanced at Macy, hoping for some explanation.
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“It’s not you… I’m just not in the mood for songs… you know why…” Macy’s voice was tight with suppressed emotion.
“Because of my mom, right? It’s just for the weekend, dear…” Chandler’s voice was gentle, trying to soothe her.
“She hates me… She always finds something wrong… Either I cook wrong, clean wrong, talk wrong, look wrong… I can’t even breathe without hearing that something’s wrong with me.” Macy’s words tumbled out in a rush, her frustration clear.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“I know, dear, I have no idea why she’s picking on you like that. But it’s only for this weekend, I promise I’ll talk to her to be kinder.” Chandler reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away, still too upset to be comforted.
“No need, the last thing I need is for her to know I’m complaining about her. Let her do what she wants, I just wonder why she does it.”
Macy’s voice wavered, and she let out a heavy sigh, staring down at her lap.
“We can’t change the direction of the wind…” Chandler said softly, glancing at her with a hopeful smile.
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Macy sighed sadly, feeling the weight of the weekend ahead pressing down on her.
“But we can adjust the sails,” Chandler added with a smile, hoping to bring a little lightness to the conversation.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Macy’s mouth. She reached over and pressed the player, starting the song again. “Country road! Take me hoooome,” they sang together.
Chandler sang loudly and diligently, while Macy joined in with less enthusiasm but already starting to feel a bit lighter. The warmth of the music and the moment shared began to melt away the tension, if only just a little.
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Arriving at Chandler’s mother Linda’s house, they immediately noticed that her lawn was unkempt, and the yard was a bit dirty. Weeds were poking through the cracks in the walkway, and the bushes were overgrown.
“I’ve offered her so many times to order lawn mowing for her,” Macy said, shaking her head.
“You know her, she doesn’t like it when someone helps her,” Chandler replied, his voice calm and understanding.
“Yes, yes, everything herself… That’s our Linda,” Macy added sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t mock her, she’s still my mom,” Chandler said, a gentle reminder in his tone.
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“I know, it’s just that she’s all alone here…” Macy trailed off, her voice softening.
“You mean well, but trust me. Over time, everything will change,” Chandler reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Just then, the door opened, and Linda came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Chandler, what took you so long? The food is getting cold, come in quickly,” she called out, her tone brisk but warm.
“Hi Mom, we’re coming,” Chandler replied with a smile, waving at her.
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“Hello, Linda,” Macy greeted calmly, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Linda looked at Macy, sized her up, and in a half-tone said, “And you came? Welcome…”
Chandler understandingly looked at Macy, giving her a supportive nod, and walked inside with her, ready to face whatever came next.
The table was set with Linda’s finest china, and the savory aroma of stew filled the air. Linda invited Chandler and Macy to sit, her voice carrying a note of forced cheerfulness.
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The dining room was cozy, with family photos on the walls and an old grandfather clock ticking softly in the corner.
“Please, sit down,” Linda said, gesturing to their places.
Macy and Chandler took their seats. Chandler noticed the tension between Linda and Macy almost immediately. They exchanged guarded glances, and Macy’s shoulders were tense. He decided to break the ice.
“Mom, the stew is delicious, just like in childhood!” Chandler exclaimed, his eyes bright with enthusiasm as he took a bite.
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Linda’s face softened slightly. “I know how much you love it, eat up, son. You probably don’t get fed like this at home.”
Macy felt the sting of Linda’s words. She forced herself to stay calm, remembering Chandler’s advice to endure. She took a deep breath and tried to smile.
“Mom, you don’t have to say that. Macy cooks wonderfully,” Chandler said, trying to defend his wife without escalating the situation.
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Linda glanced at Chandler’s shirt and noticed a small stain. She reached over and wiped it with her hand, her movements sharp and precise. “And she also takes great care of your clothes…” she added sarcastically.
Macy’s grip on her fork tightened. She felt anger bubbling up inside her but took another deep breath. This wasn’t the time to explode.
“I’m not very hungry,” Macy said, standing up. “I’ll go wash the dishes.”
Linda watched her leave with a disapproving look, her eyes following Macy’s every move.
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Macy walked into the kitchen, where the sound of running water soon filled the silence. She began scrubbing the plates with more force than necessary, trying to release her frustration.
In the dining room, Chandler turned to his mother. “Mom, you’re always hurting her. She’s my wife; you can’t talk to her like that.”
“And I’m your mother!” Linda snapped back. “I’m just telling the truth. She can’t even eat normally because of her nerves…”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
In the kitchen, Macy heard every word. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the anger rising like a tidal wave. This was the last straw. She turned off the water, left the dishes half-washed, and marched back into the dining room.
“Great, so we’re telling the truth now?” Macy said, her voice shaking with anger. “Fine, I’ll try too!”
“Dear, please don’t…” Chandler pleaded, sensing the explosion that was about to happen.
“It’s very necessary!” Macy retorted, her eyes flashing with determination. She turned to Linda, her voice steady and cold.
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“Linda, how about a hostess who has her lawn in a terrible state? It’s already looking like a swamp. How many times have I offered to help, but you’re too proud!”
Linda’s face flushed with anger. “It’s none of your business what my lawn looks like!”
“Why not? It’s your business how I cook! You don’t miss a single flaw of mine. So here’s yours. You’re a bitter, lonely woman who finds it easier to ruin her own son’s life to lift her mood! You don’t deserve him!”
“Enough! Stop it, both of you!” Chandler shouted, unable to take the hostility any longer. He stood up, placing himself between the two women.
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Linda finally couldn’t hold back. Tears welled up in her eyes and began to flow down her cheeks. Chandler turned to Macy, his expression a mix of frustration and sorrow.
“Why did you do that!? It doesn’t help the situation.”
“Me? What was I supposed to do, endure it further? To make things easier for you? I’m fed up with all this!” Macy shouted back, her voice breaking with emotion. She grabbed her coat, her movements quick and jerky.
“Where are you going?” Chandler asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
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“Away from here,” Macy replied, her voice cold and resolute. She left the house and slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the now-silent dining room.
Chandler stood there, torn between his wife and his mother, unsure of how to mend the rift that had just widened even further.
Linda sank into her chair, tears still streaming down her face, while the smell of the now-cold stew lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the evening’s disastrous turn.
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Macy took a taxi to a house that once belonged to her father. Now, it stood abandoned, filled with old things and memories.
She walked through the front door, pushing it open with a slight effort, and entered the dusty, quiet house.
Macy made her way to her old room, pushing open the door with a soft creak. The room looked just as she remembered it, frozen in time.
She ran her fingers over the faded wallpaper and the old bedspread.
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Then she walked to her father’s room. It felt like stepping into a museum of her childhood.
On the nightstand was a photo in a frame. Macy picked it up and stared at her father’s face. She missed him so much; she longed for her parents in moments like this. She sighed deeply, holding the photo close.
Her phone rang, breaking the silence. She took it out of her pocket and saw Chandler’s name on the screen. With a heavy heart, she answered and brought the phone to her ear.
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“Where are you?” Chandler asked, his voice filled with worry.
“At my father’s…” Macy replied softly.
“In that old house? Please come back, I was wrong…” Chandler’s voice was pleading.
“I’ll come back… Give me some time.” Macy’s voice was steady but sad.
“Okay…” Chandler sighed. They hung up, leaving Macy alone with her thoughts.
After hanging up, Macy decided to go up to the attic. The attic was filled with boxes, covered in a thick layer of dust. She started rummaging through them, looking for some connection to her father.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She found his favorite hat, his old toolset, and his baseball glove. He had always dreamed of having a son, but Macy played with him too, and that’s how she came to love baseball.
At the bottom of a box, she found a strange package. Opening it, she saw a bunch of letters, their edges yellowed with age. Macy was intrigued. Who could have written to her reclusive father?
She began to read a few letters and was shocked. Her father hadn’t written a single reply. All these letters were to him from Linda, Chandler’s mother.
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Macy couldn’t believe it. She read the names and addresses over and over, but everything matched.
Linda had written dozens of letters to her father. Macy opened the last one and everything clicked into place. Linda and her father had been together in their youth.
It didn’t lead to marriage or children, just a youthful love. In the letters, Linda wrote that she still loved him and asked why he left her when everything was so good.
Macy sat back, stunned. Linda knew that Macy was the daughter of the man who rejected her.
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A man who once broke her heart and stayed in her memory forever. Linda was a lonely woman who couldn’t forget the pain Macy’s father had caused her.
Macy’s words during their argument had cut deep because they came from the daughter of the man who had hurt Linda so much. Now, Macy regretted what she had said. Everything made sense now.
Macy returned to Linda’s house and quietly entered. In the living room, Chandler and Linda were already waiting for her.
“Dear, please forgive me…” Chandler began, his voice filled with emotion.
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“Yes, Macy. I was wrong… I want to…” Linda started to say.
“No need…” Macy gently interrupted, walking towards Linda. She wrapped her arms around Linda in a warm hug. “Forgive me, and my father,” she whispered.
Linda was surprised but softened in Macy’s embrace, letting go of the past pain. At that moment, no more words were needed.
Both women understood each other perfectly. The conflict was resolved, marking the beginning of a friendly relationship.
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