“Baby, don’t panic—but Jeff’s not here,” my mom whispered.
“What do you mean not here?!”
“They’re all gone. Jeff, the groomsmen—everyone.”
Then came the letter from his mom, Clarita:
“Jeff deserves better. Some women aren’t meant to be wives.”
I knew instantly—she’d taken him.
Mom and I drove like maniacs to Clarita’s lake house. Jeff opened the door, pale.
“She said you called it off,” he murmured.
“She lied,” I said. “Look at my phone.”
When he saw the truth, he turned to her: “You don’t get to decide who I marry.”
We left and got married at sunset, three hours late and muddy—but happy.
Months later, Clarita posted online calling me manipulative. I commented sweetly, she deleted it, and Jeff blocked her.
Now we live two states away, peaceful at last.
Love isn’t about keeping the peace—it’s about standing together when someone tries to tear you apart.
