After six months of dating, Chris proposes to Beth. His enthusiastic family runs with the wedding planning — only to include unorthodox items on the program, causing Beth to leave her wedding.
For my 25th birthday this year, my boyfriend, Chris, whisked me off to Hawaii.
It was a fairytale because we had only been dating for six months, and I wasn’t expecting anything. But then, Chris proposed to me on the beach — I said yes, swept away by the enchantment of the moment, although I knew that six months of knowing someone was not enough before marrying them.
Little did I know that fairytale was about to unravel into more drama than I had signed up for.
Beach proposal | Source: Pexels
I wasn’t one of those girls who spent hours dreaming up their wedding. So when Chris’s family, fueled by their eagerness and involvement, took complete control over every detail of the wedding, even offering to foot the bill — I allowed it.
I’ll admit that there were moments when I felt sidelined, especially when I said that shades of blue for the color scheme weren’t my cup of tea.
But contributing to their enthusiasm was the better option than fighting with them.
Then, the big day arrived, and I was completely calm about everything — knowing that Chris’s Mom and sister had sorted everything out. I wasn’t close to my family, so other than my father, they didn’t play any big roles.
Blue wedding decor | Source: Pexels
“Beth,” his Mom, Leeanne, said, fixing my hair. “I want you to walk down the aisle with your eyes closed.”
“What? Why?” I exclaimed, already thinking about tripping over something while walking.
“I can barely walk properly in these heels with my eyes open,” I chuckled.
“It’s just tradition,” Leeanne said. “I did it, too. The whole thing is about seeing your husband first — the first thing out of the darkness.”
“He’s supposed to be the light,” Chris’s sister, Maggie, giggled.
The whole thing sounded strange. It wasn’t anything I had heard of before, but I also knew that people always came up with superstitions and stories.
“I wouldn’t have to wear a blindfold and mess up my make-up, right?” I asked.
“No, just close your eyes and hold onto your father’s hand tightly,” Leeanne said.
When I told my Dad what I needed to do, he laughed, thinking I was joking.
Pair of glittery Jimmy Choo heels | Source: Unsplash
It was absurd, of course. But my wedding only got worse from there.
At the altar, I opened my eyes, expecting the loving gaze of my fiancé, but I got way more than I bargained for.
Chris smiled at me, and after a second, another sight sent shockwaves through me — a woman in a white dress stood behind him.
I couldn’t tell whether he knew she was there from his expression. I wondered who she was, but the murmurs around me revealed her identity — Julia, Chris’s first wife.
“Chris, what’s happening?” I whispered, pointing to Julia. My voice was barely audible amidst the collective gasps.
Woman standing in white dress | Source: Pexels
But before either Chris or I could process this bizarre twist in the ceremony, Leeanne walked down the aisle, holding onto a little boy’s hand. Every face turned to look toward them.
Then, Julia stepped forward and held her arms open for the boy, ready for him to walk in.
“This is Eli,” she said, looking at me. “He’s six years old, and he is autistic. He’s the best part of me, but he’s also part of Chris. Elizabeth, this is our son.”
“But he wouldn’t tell you that,” Maggie chimed in from next to me — she was one of my bridesmaids.
“Did you know about Eli?” Maggie asked.
Boy covering his face | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. The air had become dense with emotion. The crowd’s eyes were on me, but my gaze was fixed on Chris, desperate for an explanation, an excuse, a denial, anything.
But there was none. Instead, he fingered his watch nervously, guilt undeniable on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
“I didn’t know how,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.
I turned to look at Eli, who was holding tightly onto Julia’s hand and looking around the room. I could clearly see Chris’s features all over his face.
“You let me believe that your divorce was admirable and that there were no ties to Julia,” I said. “But you abandoned your family. You abandoned your son.”
“He abandoned Eli when he found out that he was autistic,” Maggie said loudly.
My heart sank. How could I have almost married a man who was so thoughtless and cold? He left his son behind because of something that he was born with.
As the truth unfolded, I felt I was drowning in the weight of everything. Leeanne, upon discovering that Chris wanted to remarry, had orchestrated this dramatic revelation.
Man holding his tie | Source: Pexels
“You’re too young, Elizabeth,” she said. “You’re too young to be caught up in his mess. He couldn’t care for Julia, so she cared for herself and Eli. Chris has disappointed me in many ways, but nothing will make up for the neglect of his own child.”
It turned out that my wedding was just a harsh, public lesson aimed at a man who had turned his back on his responsibilities.
I kicked off my heels, handed them to Maggie, and walked away from the altar — not as a bride but as a woman who had narrowly escaped a life bound to deceit.
The experience was painful — sure, it had only been six months of knowing Chris, but I knew what I had felt for him was real. That’s why it hurt so much when I found out the truth.
People holding passports | Source: Pexels
In the aftermath, I took time to focus on myself. I decided I needed to travel and live life while still young. I needed more bad romances and horrible dates before figuring out who I wanted to be with.
I just knew one thing for sure — I didn’t want to be with someone like Chris. A man who lied about having a son — a son that was rendered invisible to him because he was autistic.
I’m just grateful that the only thing I had to pay for was my wedding dress — which had been returned three days after the so-called wedding.
Even now, when I think about the entire episode, I admit I’m not mad about it all. Leeanne did what she needed to do. And she did it to protect me and that sweet little boy.
Little boy with red hair | Source: Pexels
Has anything unreal happened to you?
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MY LATE GRANDMA’S NEIGHBOR ACCUSED ME OF HIDING “HER SHARE OF THE WILL” — WHEN SHE REFUSED TO LEAVE, I GAVE HER A REALITY CHECK.
The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
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