he week before my wedding should have been filled with excitement and butterflies. Instead, it turned into a nightmare—one that began in the quiet of my own kitchen.
I had spent months obsessing over every little detail of my upcoming wedding to Simon. We met at the café where I worked during university—he was charming, successful, everything I thought I wanted. When he proposed last winter, I felt like the luckiest woman alive.
My invitations were my pride and joy—luxurious cream cardstock, gold-foiled edges, hand-calligraphed names. Two hundred of them, carefully stacked and ready to send.
Then, one morning, I walked into my kitchen—and stopped cold.
Shreds of paper were everywhere. Not a single invitation had survived.
I stood frozen. My coffee mug slipped from my hands and shattered, but I didn’t even react. I was staring at the ruins of my dream day—and had no idea who could’ve done something so heartless.
Until I saw her.
My younger sister, Ivy, stood in the doorway. Scissors in hand. Her face pale but unwavering.
“Ivy,” I gasped. “What did you do?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice steady. “But you can’t marry him.”
At first, I thought it was jealousy. Ivy had always been fiercely protective—and critical of any guy I dated. I figured maybe she and Simon had argued, and this was her unhinged way of interfering.
But then she dropped a bomb: Simon had been having an affair—with Celeste, my father’s girlfriend.
I laughed. It was the only thing my brain could process. It sounded absurd.
But Ivy had proof. Texts, photos, overheard conversations. She’d discovered the truth weeks ago and tried to tell me gently. But I wouldn’t listen. So she did the only thing that would force me to.
Destroy my wedding.
It took days for the reality to sink in. But once it did, I wasn’t angry anymore. I was ready to end it—on my terms.
With Ivy’s help, I planned the reveal.
The wedding day arrived just as I had imagined—roses everywhere, fairy lights glowing, guests buzzing. Simon waited at the altar, and Celeste, bold as ever, sat front and center in a white-adjacent dress.
Then I stopped the ceremony.
“I want to start by sharing something personal,” I said to the guests. “A glimpse into what love really looks like.”
The lights dimmed. A screen lit up behind us.
First slide: Simon and Celeste kissing.
Second: A voice recording of Simon bragging about his “weekends at the lake.”
Third: Flirty texts that left no room for doubt.
Gasps echoed. My dad turned ghost-white. Celeste stood up and ran. Dad chased after her, shouting. Simon just stood there, frozen.
I turned to him and said the only thing left to say:
“This wedding is over.”
The officiant packed up. Guests applauded. Friends hugged me and called me brave. Simon tried to speak—but no one was listening.
Six months later, he was gone from my life. Celeste was out of the picture. And Ivy? Still standing strong beside me.
What I thought was sabotage turned out to be the greatest act of love.
I used to dream of Ivy walking beside me on my wedding day. I just didn’t know she’d be the one to save it first.