The Day My Daughter Stole My Wedding
Weddings are supposed to be magical, right? A celebration of love, a day full of laughter, music, and promises of forever. But for me, Mabel, that dream turned into a full-blown nightmare — all thanks to my own daughter, Amanda.
It all began with traffic. On the day of my wedding to Adam, our limousine was barely crawling along the freeway.
Horns blared, cars sat bumper to bumper, and the sun glared through the tinted windows. Somewhere up ahead, an overturned truck had brought everything to a standstill.
Adam sat beside me, trying to stay calm, though I could see the tension in his jaw. We weren’t too worried about bad luck — both of us had been married before.
Seeing each other before the ceremony wasn’t exactly a deal breaker.
I pressed the intercom button. “Time, please, Ben?”
Our driver’s voice crackled through. “It’s difficult to say, Mabel. But I’m trying to gap in whenever I can! I’ll get you and Adam down the aisle, I promise!”
I sighed and leaned back. “We’re definitely going to be late,” I muttered.
“Call Amanda,” Adam said, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Tell her to handle things until we get there. She can keep the guests entertained, get the band playing or something.”
So I pulled out my phone and called my daughter. She picked up almost immediately.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re stuck in traffic. There’s been an accident, so it might take us around 30 minutes. Can you please make sure everything’s running smoothly at the venue? Maybe get the band started?”
“Of course, Mommy!” she chirped, her voice honey-sweet. “Don’t you worry about a thing other than getting here. I’ve got everything else handled. Be safe!”
Her confidence calmed me — for a moment.
But ten minutes later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was my sister Jess, and she sounded frantic.
“Mabel, you need to get here now! It’s Amanda, she—”
Then the line went dead.
“She what?” I whispered, staring at my phone. I called her back, but it went straight to voicemail.
Adam glanced at me. “What’s going on?”
I told him what Jess had said.
He chuckled dryly. “Oh, honey. I bet Amanda grabbed a microphone and started singing with the band. You know how she loves attention.”
I wanted to believe that. Really, I did.
But when our limo finally pulled up at the venue half an hour later, nothing — absolutely nothing — could have prepared me for what I saw.
Amanda was standing on the front steps of the chapel, holding a bouquet of ivory roses. She was wearing a wedding dress. A real, white, lacy wedding dress. Cameras flashed all around her as the photographers snapped pictures like she was the bride.
And beside her stood Kyle — her boyfriend of barely a year — looking completely dazed and uncomfortable in a suit.
My heart nearly stopped.
“What the hell is going on?!” I shouted as I stormed up the stairs.
Amanda turned, smiling brightly as if she’d been expecting me. “Oh, Mommy! I’m so sad you missed the ceremony! It was lovely!”
I froze. “My ceremony? You had my ceremony? Amanda, are you out of your damn mind?”
She shrugged, brushing imaginary dust from her dress. “Well, you were late. I thought we couldn’t let all this go to waste!
Everything was already set up — the flowers, the music, the guests — and the officiant had another event to get to. You know how I hate delays. So… I married Kyle!”
For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. My daughter — my only daughter — had hijacked my wedding.
“You’ll get married another day!” she chirped, completely unfazed. “Now, Kyle and I are going to do our final walk down to the reception hall. The guests are going to throw rice and confetti. You want to join?”
I was too stunned to speak. Adam came up beside me, his face dark with fury.
“Say the word, Mabel,” he said tightly. “I’ll shut this down right now.”
But I looked at Amanda — smiling like she was the star of her own movie — and I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “She’s still my daughter. I’ll handle this another way.”
The reception was surreal. Amanda pranced around the hall like a queen, laughing and posing for pictures. The guests looked uncomfortable but didn’t dare say anything. After all, the bride — well, the fake bride — was my daughter.
My Aunt Joy came up to me, frowning. “Mabel, dear, what’s going on? We thought this was your wedding! Nobody even knew Amanda was seeing someone seriously.”
“I didn’t either,” I said flatly. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”
Later, Amanda had the nerve to slice into the wedding cake Adam and I had chosen. The same cake I had spent weeks designing, complete with delicate sugar flowers.
Jess finally found me, furious. “That daughter of yours stole my phone when I tried to call you! Then she locked me in the bathroom during the ceremony! Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Because,” I said calmly, “revenge is best served cold.”
That revenge came faster than anyone expected.
That night, while Adam and I sat in our hotel room, sharing room service desserts and trying to recover from the chaos, there was a knock on the door.
Amanda waltzed in with a bright smile. “Kyle and I need your tickets to Chile for the honeymoon,” she said breezily. “No point in them going to waste, right?”
Adam’s hand twitched like he wanted to throw something. But I smiled sweetly. “Of course, sweetie. You can have the tickets. You and Kyle deserve some fun.”
Amanda squealed, hugged me, stole a strawberry from our plate, and left.
Adam turned to me, incredulous. “Mabel, are you serious? She’s taking our honeymoon now? After stealing our wedding?”
I smiled. “Trust me. She’s going to learn her lesson. Just wait two days.”
Sure enough, two mornings later, my phone rang.
“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, MOM?!” Amanda shrieked.
I smirked. “Amanda, darling, is something wrong?”
“Wrong?! You sent me and Kyle to the Arctic! We’re freezing! There’s nothing here but ice and penguins! This isn’t Chile, it’s hell frozen over!”
I nearly laughed out loud. Technically, the tickets were to Chile — for the first leg of our trip. But they included a connecting flight to our dream destination: an Arctic expedition.
It had been our honeymoon plan all along — glacier hikes, northern lights, and polar bears. But Amanda? She despised the cold.
“You asked for the tickets, Amanda,” I said.
She groaned. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You’re a married woman,” I replied calmly. “Figure it out.”
She hung up, cursing under her breath.
A week later, Adam and I finally had our real wedding — a beautiful, intimate celebration in my sister Jess’s backyard. Our closest friends and family made it magical. The food, the music, the laughter — everything was perfect.
And this time, Amanda wasn’t invited.
The best part? All the wedding gifts from the first ceremony came to us. Espresso machines, luxury linens, even a full spa weekend from Adam’s brother. It was poetic justice.
When Amanda found out, she called again, furious.
“Mom, you stole my wedding gifts!” she screamed. “Everything was supposed to stay at the venue until we got back!”
I laughed. “Your gifts? You stole my wedding, sweetheart. Consider this a fair trade.”
From what I’ve heard, Amanda’s marriage is already crumbling. Kyle looked miserable even on their wedding day — Jess told me he avoided everyone and barely spoke.
“That boy’s in for a rough ride,” Jess said one afternoon over tea.
Maybe so. But as for Adam and me? We finally got our happy ending.
We went on our Arctic honeymoon, just the two of us, surrounded by snow and stars. It was peaceful. Beautiful. Everything a real wedding should feel like — honest, warm, and earned.
Amanda learned her lesson the hard way: some things in life can’t be stolen.
And as for karma? She’s got perfect timing.
