My future brother-in-law had always been difficult—arrogant, disrespectful, and constantly crossing the line. But on my wedding day, he went too far. What he did wasn’t just inappropriate—it was unforgivable. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning what should’ve been the happiest day of my life into a nightmare. That moment finally broke something in Michael, and he had had enough.
When Michael and I began dating, it felt like something out of a messy, imperfect fairy tale—the kind with unexpected challenges but beautiful moments.
I still remember crying on our first date because I was embarrassingly late. I’d spilled coffee, hit traffic, and broken a heel. When I finally rushed in, flushed and flustered, I could barely speak through the tears. Michael looked unsure, but we made it through dinner. Still, he didn’t reach out for a whole week. I figured I’d scared him off.
Then fate stepped in—we ran into each other at a friend’s party. I explained I was just an emotional person. To my surprise, he didn’t run—he related. He said he felt things deeply, too.
That night was six years ago, and we’d been inseparable ever since. I no longer cried alone during sad movies; Michael cried with me. He was my person. My heart knew it long before he proposed.
After just three months, we moved in together. Life kept throwing curveballs at us, and somehow, the wedding plans always got pushed aside. But eight months ago, Michael proposed—beautifully and unexpectedly. I didn’t need a proposal to know I wanted forever with him, but it was magical nonetheless.
Of course, every couple faces obstacles. For us, that obstacle had a name—Jordan.
Jordan, Michael’s older brother by three years, was insufferable. He lived with their parents, talked down to Michael, and seemed to enjoy making others uncomfortable.
I still remember the first time I met him. We visited Michael’s parents, and Jordan was there. Our interaction was civil—until I left the table to use the bathroom.
Jordan cornered me in the hallway. “Bored yet?” he smirked.
I replied politely, trying to step past him, but he leaned closer. “My brother doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’d have more fun with me.”
Then he touched me—inappropriately.
“Get off me!” I shouted, pushing him away and hurrying back to the dining room, shaken.
Michael noticed something was wrong, and when I told him what happened, he was furious. He confronted Jordan, but Jordan brushed it off, claiming it was a “test” to see if I was good enough for Michael. I didn’t buy it, but Michael, still under Jordan’s thumb in some ways, let it go.
Jordan’s behavior didn’t stop. He started sending inappropriate messages and photos. I blocked him immediately and told Michael I didn’t want him at our wedding. Michael agreed.
But nothing’s ever that simple.
One night, Michael came home looking defeated. “I talked to my parents. They said if Jordan isn’t invited, they won’t come.”
I was heartbroken. “After everything he’s done, they still choose him?”
Michael didn’t know what to say. In the end, I gave in. “Fine. He can come. But I don’t want to see him.”
Michael hugged me tightly. “Thank you. I’ll make sure he stays away.”
The wedding day finally came. I was in the bridal suite, glowing, my dress perfect, my heart overflowing. I was about to marry the love of my life.
Then came the knock on the door.
I opened it, expecting a bridesmaid or a kind face. Instead, it was Jordan—with a bucket. Before I could speak, he dumped it all over me.
Sticky, cold green paint drenched my dress, my skin, my hair.
“For rejecting me, witch,” he spat before slamming the door.
I collapsed in tears. My bridesmaids rushed in, horrified. They tried to clean the dress, but it was ruined. Stacy, one of my closest friends, ran out to find anything I could wear.
Minutes passed. I could barely breathe. I’d imagined this day for years—and now it felt destroyed.
Then Stacy burst back in, breathless. “Jordan told everyone you ran off. Michael’s panicking.”
My blood boiled. I tore off my veil, paint-streaked hair falling around my face.
“That’s it,” I said, voice shaking. I marched out, covered in paint, into the stunned church.
“I didn’t run away!” I shouted.
Michael turned, eyes wide. “Danica?” He ran to me and held me tight.
“Jordan did this,” I said, showing him my ruined dress. “Then he told everyone I left.”
Michael turned to face the crowd. “Jordan! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Jordan smirked from his seat. “It was just a joke.”
“No one’s laughing,” Michael snapped. “You’ve crossed the line.”
Michael’s mother stood. “He’s your brother!”
“If you support him, you can leave too,” Michael said, unwavering.
The church fell silent. Eventually, his parents grabbed Jordan and walked out.
Michael turned back to me, cupped my face in his hands. “I was terrified,” he whispered.
“Thank you for standing up for me,” I whispered back.
“Always,” he promised.