A day before the wedding, $15,000 vanished from my account. I called my brother. She said, “Come on, it’s not like you’d use it.
You don’t even have a real family.”
I just replied, “That’s about to change.”
The next morning, florist canceled. DJ ghosted. Venue refunded.
Group chat exploded. My mom called me screaming. I’m not the kind of person who sees betrayal coming.
I give people the benefit of the doubt even when they don’t deserve it. My brother Cory always took advantage of that and I let him. Not because I didn’t see it, I did, but because I kept telling myself he’d grow out of it.
That at some point he’d finally get it together and start acting like a decent human being. I was wrong. A few months ago, Cory came to me talking about how tight money was with the wedding coming up.
He said the bills were piling up faster than he expected. The venue wanted their second deposit. The florist wanted full payment earlier than planned.
The DJ was threatening to cancel unless he sent something. It was the usual mix of pressure and manipulation. I wasn’t surprised when he asked if he could use my card for a few things.
“Just to float it,” he said. “You’ll see every charge. Nothing shady.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I told him fine. I even gave him my login so he could see the balances himself. He said he wouldn’t use it without checking first.
I believed him. The first few charges were small. A couple hundred here.
350 there. I didn’t think much of it. I assumed he was keeping track.
I didn’t realize I was the one funding the whole damn thing. The day before the wedding, I logged in just to check my balance before setting up a transfer for my rent. The number hit me like a brick to the chest.
Over $15,000 gone. Not pending. Not disputed.
Cleared. At first, I thought I was misreading it. That maybe I clicked on the wrong account.
But then I saw the names. The vendor names. The dates.
The amounts. He had booked everything using my money. The venue.
The catering. The DJ. The florist.
Even the photographer. Not a single charge had come from his account. And he hadn’t paid me back a cent.
I called him. No answer. Texted.
Nothing. I called again. Voicemail.
I finally wrote:
“Pick up or I swear to God I will show up and ruin your wedding myself.”
That got his attention. He FaceTimed me. He was in the back of some party shuttle, clearly already drinking, tie loose around his neck, laughing with his groomsmen.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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