Michael wrapped his arms around me. “You’re the best,” he whispered.
The wedding day finally arrived. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.
I had dreamed about this moment for years, and now it was finally here.
I was marrying the man I loved more than anything, and nothing could ruin my day. Not stress, not nerves, not even Jordan.
Or so I thought.
I was in the bridal room at the church, standing in front of the mirror as my bridesmaids helped me with the final touches.
The dress was perfect. Everything was perfect.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
Smiling, I turned to open it. My breath caught when I saw Jordan standing there.
“What are you—” Before I could finish, he lifted a bucket and, in one swift motion, dumped its contents over me. Cold, sticky liquid drenched my dress, my skin, my hair.
“This is for rejecting me, witch,” he sneered.
I gasped.
The smell of paint hit me first. Bright green dripped from my arms. My beautiful white gown was ruined.
“Are you insane?!” I screamed, my voice shaking.
Jordan only laughed, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, then slammed the door in my face.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the chair, sobbing.
My bridesmaids rushed in, their faces horrified.
“Oh my God,” one of them whispered.
“We need water,” another said, grabbing a towel.
They scrubbed at my dress, but the paint had already soaked in. There was no saving it.
Stacy grabbed my shoulders. “Stay here.
I’ll find a white dress—anything.” She ran out before I could answer.
I wiped my face, but more tears came. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
I couldn’t stop crying. I had spent months picking out my wedding dress, searching for the perfect one, imagining how I would look walking down the aisle.
Now, I’d have to wear something I had never even seen before.
My hair was completely green, streaks of paint clinging to the strands. My bridesmaids worked quickly, pinning it up and covering it with my veil.
“It’ll be okay,” one of them whispered.
“We’ll wash it after the ceremony,” another promised.
The ceremony was already supposed to have started, but Stacy was still missing.
The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. My bridesmaids paced, checking the time, whispering in worried tones.
Finally, the door burst open.
Stacy came running into the room, breathless, her face flushed. In her hands, she held a surprisingly beautiful dress.
“Jordan told everyone you ran away. Michael is freaking out,” she blurted.
I froze.
My stomach twisted.
“HE DID WHAT?!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls.
Stacy nodded. “People are whispering. Michael looks like he’s about to pass out.”
I clenched my fists.
My chest burned with anger. “That’s it. I’ve had enough.”
I reached up, ripped off my veil, and let my green-streaked hair fall loose.
Gasps filled the room. My bridesmaids stared, wide-eyed.
Without another word, I stormed out. My dress stuck to my skin, the paint dry in some places, still dripping in others.
As I stepped into the church, heads turned.
People whispered. My heart pounded, but I pushed forward.
Michael stood at the altar, his hands clenched, his face pale. He looked devastated.
“I didn’t run away!” I shouted.
My voice cut through the murmurs.
Michael’s head snapped up. “Danica?” He rushed down the aisle and pulled me into his arms.
Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. “Jordan poured green paint on me,” I said, stepping back and gesturing to my ruined dress.
“Then he lied and told everyone I left!”
Michael’s jaw tightened. He turned, scanning the room. “Jordan!
Care to explain?!” His voice was sharp.
Jordan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “It was just a harmless joke,” he said, shrugging.
“That’s not a joke! No one is laughing!
We’re all on edge as it is!” Michael snapped.
“Whoa, little brother, calm down,” Jordan said, his tone mocking.
Michael squared his shoulders. “I’m not five anymore. You don’t have control over me.”
Jordan chuckled.
“Yet here I am, at your wedding.”
“Get out!” I shouted, my voice shaking with rage.
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “I was invited. I’m not leaving.”
Michael took a step forward.
“Get out!” he repeated, his voice firm. “Or I’ll throw you out myself.”
“Michael, he’s your brother,” his mother interjected, standing abruptly.
Michael turned to her. “If you support what he did, you can leave too,” he said without hesitation.
His mother’s face paled.
“But Michael—” she started.
“Out!” Michael commanded. His voice was final.
A tense silence filled the church. His parents exchanged a glance, then grabbed Jordan and walked out without another word.
Michael turned back to me, his eyes softening.
He pulled me close, resting his forehead against mine. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
I exhaled, feeling the weight of everything lift. “Thank you for standing up for me,” I said, my voice steady.
“From now on, always,” he promised.
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Source: amomama
