I always dreamed wedding dress shopping would be magical. But when Neil’s mother, Lora, joined us uninvited, the magic vanished. Her constant judgment and disapproval made me feel like I didn’t belong in my own wedding. Neil stayed silent as she criticized every dress I tried. Hurt and frustrated, I walked out, determined to reclaim my moment. But the next day, a box arrived—inside was a stiff,

high-collared dress Lora had picked for me. With it came a note: “It’ll match Neil’s suit. You’ll look good beside him.” That was my breaking point. I wasn’t a prop in her picture-perfect wedding. And if Neil couldn’t stand up for me, I would stand up for myself. On the wedding day, I walked down the aisle—not in white, but in black silk,