I should have trusted my instincts the moment my mother-in-law offered to help with part of the wedding. Her tone was unusually sweet, her smile a little too polished, and the gesture felt like a peace offering I didn’t want to refuse. Looking back, I realize it was a pivotal moment—one small “yes” that opened the door to an unexpected twist.
From the beginning, my relationship with Denise was… layered. Never outright unfriendly, but always a bit tense. Every conversation had an undercurrent of politeness that felt just a little too rehearsed. Denise was someone who thrived on appearances—perfect nails, social brunches, and a picture-perfect Instagram. I was a full-time painter, usually covered in color, rarely filtered. I wasn’t exactly the partner she’d envisioned for her son, Ethan. Still, when she offered to handle our wedding photographer, Ethan saw it as a sign she wanted to make peace. I wanted to believe that too.
Denise recommended a photographer named Jason, someone she’d hired before. She promised he was talented and professional, focused on capturing authentic, emotional moments. I met him once before the big day—he was polite, confident, and seemed to understand the kind of images we wanted.
Our wedding day felt like a dream. Golden sunlight filled the chapel. I wore a lace gown my grandmother helped alter. Ethan looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. We danced, we laughed, we cried. Everything felt beautifully right.
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