On the day of Elise and Rowan’s wedding, they were trapped in a limousine, inching along the motorway in gridlock. Instead of keeping her mother’s guests entertained, Elise’s daughter, Clara, hijacked the wedding, stealing the spotlight. Would Elise retaliate at the event or teach Clara a lesson another way?
Weddings are meant to be enchanting, aren’t they? A day of love’s culmination, months of planning, and a vow to stand by your partner forever.
That was the dream, at least, until my daughter Clara turned it into a complete disaster.
It started with traffic, naturally. My fiancé Rowan and I were stuck in our limousine, surrounded by a sea of brake lights due to a lorry accident miles ahead. We weren’t fussed about traditions—both of us had been married before, so seeing each other pre-ceremony was no issue.
“Time check, please, Leo?” I called through the intercom to our driver.
“Hard to say, Elise,” he replied. “But I’m weaving through where I can! I’ll get you and Rowan to the altar!”
We were definitely running late.
“Love, call Clara,” Rowan said, his jaw tight as he tapped the seat. “Tell her to manage the guests—get the band playing, keep everyone happy.”
I dialed my daughter, feeling the pressure mount. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said. “We’re stuck in traffic—an accident’s holding everything up. Can you keep things running smoothly at the venue? We’ll be about 30 minutes late. Rowan says to start the band.”
“Of course, Mum!” Clara chirped, her voice overly sweet. “Don’t worry about a thing except getting here. I’ve got it all under control. Stay safe!”
I exhaled, her words easing my nerves. But ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was my sister, Nora.
Her voice was panicked. “Elise, you need to get here now! Clara’s…” Her voice cut off as the call dropped.
“She’s what?” I muttered, redialing, but it went to voicemail. A sick feeling settled in my gut, but we were helpless, crawling along in traffic.
“What did Nora mean? What’s happening?” I asked Rowan after filling him in.
“Honestly, love,” he said, “I bet Clara’s grabbed a mic and is singing with the band.”
When we finally arrived at the venue half an hour later, nothing prepared me for the sight. Clara stood on the steps, glowing, holding a bouquet of cream roses. She wore a wedding dress—simple, white, unmistakable.
Photographers swarmed, cameras clicking as she posed with a radiant smile. Beside her stood Milo, her boyfriend of barely a year, looking uneasy in a suit.
My heart stopped.
“What the hell is this?” I shouted, storming up the steps.
Clara turned, her face a mix of surprise and smugness.
“Oh, Mum!” she gushed. “I’m so sorry you missed the ceremony! It was beautiful!”
My jaw dropped.
“My ceremony? You stole my ceremony? Clara, are you out of your mind?”
“Well,” she said, brushing her dress, “since you were late, we couldn’t waste the setup. The officiant had to leave, and you know I hate delays. So… I married Milo!”
The sheer audacity left me speechless. My dream ceremony, the one Rowan and I had planned for months, was gone—hijacked by my own daughter.
“You’ll get married another day!” she chirped, as if she hadn’t crushed me. “Milo and I are about to walk to the reception hall. The guests will throw rice and confetti. Want to join?”
I shook my head.
Rowan stepped up behind me, his face a storm of anger and hurt. He’d worked so hard to bond with Clara, and her betrayal cut him deep.
“Say the word, love,” he said. “I’ll shut this down right now.”
I looked at Clara, the daughter I raised, now staring at me with infuriating smugness. Every nerve screamed to fight, to reclaim what she’d stolen.
But I exhaled slowly. “She’s still my daughter,” I muttered to Rowan. “Don’t. I’ll handle this another way.”
The reception was surreal. Clara pranced about like a fairy-tale princess, oblivious to the pain she’d caused.
Family and friends approached between courses, confused. “Elise, we thought this was your wedding,” my aunt said. “What’s this about Clara getting married? We didn’t even know she was serious with anyone!”
“I’m as shocked as you,” I replied.
When dessert came, Clara cut into our cake, complete with the delicate sugar flowers we’d chosen.
Nora pulled me aside, fuming. “She snatched my phone while I was talking to you and locked me in the bathroom during the ceremony! Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Because,” I said, a smile creeping onto my face, “revenge is better served cold.”
The real blow landed later that evening. Clara knocked on our hotel room door, smiling like nothing had happened.
Rowan and I were on the bed, tucking into room service desserts.
“So,” Clara said, leaning against the wardrobe, “Milo and I need your tickets to Bali for the honeymoon. No point in you using them now.”
Rowan froze, his hand twitching toward the lamp like he might hurl it.
But I smiled calmly. “Of course, sweetheart. You can have the tickets. You and Milo deserve a treat.”
Clara squealed, hugged me, swiped a raspberry from our plate, and left.
“What the hell, Elise?” Rowan asked. “She’s taking our honeymoon too? We poured so much into this—our wedding, our trip. And for what? For Clara to act like a spoiled brat?”
“I know you’re upset,” I said. “But trust me, love. She’s in for a lesson. Two days from now, you’ll see.”
Right on cue, Clara called two mornings later, her voice far from cheerful.
“How could you, Mum?!” she shrieked.
I smirked, holding the phone close. “Clara, darling, is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” she yelled. “You gave me tickets to the Arctic! We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, freezing, with nothing to do!”
I stifled a laugh. The tickets were technically for Bali—but only as a layover to our real destination: an Arctic adventure with glacier treks, icy waters, and polar bear sightings.
It was our dream trip. Clara, though? She loathed the cold. She was all about luxury resorts and sunny beaches.
Classic Clara—she hadn’t checked the full itinerary.
“You asked for the tickets,” I said coolly.
“But what do I do?” she whined.
“You’re a married woman now. Sort it out.”
She hung up, muttering curses. I couldn’t stop grinning.
Meanwhile, Rowan and I made new plans. Nora and our closest friends rallied to throw us a stunning wedding celebration at her house a week later. They handled everything—catering, decorations—and it was more magical than I’d imagined.
Clara wasn’t invited. And the best part? The gifts. Since Clara hijacked our original wedding, all the presents came to us: a sleek coffee machine, luxury bedding, and a paid-for spa weekend from Rowan’s brother.
It was like karma had wrapped itself up with a bow.
When Clara heard, she had another meltdown. “Mum, you stole my wedding gifts?” she shouted over the phone. “They were supposed to stay at the venue until we got back!”
“Stop right there,” I said, laughing. “Your gifts? You stole my wedding, Clara. This is a fair trade.”
Rowan, at the coffee machine, burst out laughing.
As for Clara’s marriage to Milo? From what I hear, it’s already shaky. Nora said Milo looked miserable during the ceremony, and I saw it myself at the reception—he avoided us entirely.
“That lad’s in for a tough ride,” Nora said over tea and cake a few days later.
Clara may have stolen my fairy-tale wedding, but her happily-ever-after is already crumbling.
As for Rowan and me? We’re stronger than ever. We went on our Arctic honeymoon, and it was breathtaking.
Some lessons are learned the hard way. Clara might never admit it, but I hope she’s realized entitlement has a price.
And if not? Well, I’ll always have the satisfaction of knowing she outsmarted herself. Karma, after all, has a knack for balancing the scales.
