My dad’s girlfriend showed up at my wedding wearing a white gown that looked way too familiar. What she didn’t know was that I had one last surprise ready—one that would turn the tables completely.
I’m Ellie, 27, and this fall, I’m marrying Evan, my partner of six years. He’s calm, kind, and somehow knows exactly when I need quiet, or just a hand to hold. Sundays are for coffee in bed. He sings horribly in the car. We love slow mornings, hiking with our dog, and dancing ridiculously in the kitchen. Simply put, he feels like home.
Our wedding reflected that. No ballrooms, no chandeliers—just vows under the trees at my aunt’s farmhouse, surrounded by string lights, close friends, barbecue, and a local bluegrass band. Warm, personal, intimate. No drama. Or so I thought.
Enter Janine, my dad’s girlfriend. She’s 42, stylish, confident, the kind of woman who can turn a quiet family dinner into a lecture on her latest wellness obsession. At first, I tried to brush it off, telling myself she was just enthusiastic. But over time, that enthusiasm started spilling into moments that mattered to me.
Like last year, when Evan and I got engaged. I wanted to tell my family in person—but before I could, Janine accidentally spilled the news during brunch with our extended relatives.
“Oh, didn’t Ellie tell you? She and Evan are engaged!” she said, laughing like it was nothing.
I forced a smile. “Yeah… we were going to tell everyone tonight.”
“Oh no!” she said. “Oops! My bad. I just assumed it was public knowledge!”
I cried in the car later. Evan held my hand and said, “It’s still your engagement. She can’t take that from you.”
But last week, she crossed a line.
Sunday dinner at my dad’s place was normal—roasted chicken, salad, red wine. But halfway through, Janine leaned in and said, like she’d just discovered fire, “So… I already found my dress for the wedding!”
I smiled politely. “Oh, nice. What color?”
She showed me her phone. White. Full-length. Lace. Beaded bodice. Mermaid style. My wedding dress.
I froze.
“Uh… Janine, that’s… white,” I said, unsure if I was joking.
“Oh, it’s ivory, not white. No one will confuse me for the bride!” she chirped.
My sister Chloe choked on water. My dad looked uncomfortable. I stared at him, hoping he’d intervene. He didn’t.
“Janine,” I said carefully, “please don’t wear something that looks like a wedding dress to my wedding.”
She waved me off, perfectly manicured hand. “Sweetie, you’re overreacting. Your dress is casual, right? Mine will look completely different.”
My blood ran cold.
“Wait… how do you know what my dress looks like?”
She smiled smugly. “Your dad showed me a photo when you sent him the design. Cute, very boho, very you.”
Evan sat up straighter. Chloe muttered, “What the hell…”
I stared at my dad. “You showed her my dress?”
He mumbled, “I didn’t think it was a big deal. She asked to see it.”
“It was a big deal,” I said, voice trembling. “I trusted you with that.”
Janine kept eating salad, completely unfazed.
Later, the seamstress I’d worked with called. Janine had contacted her, asking for a similar dress. Months of sketches, fabric choices, lace details inspired by my mom’s wedding photos—gone.
I called Chloe. “She’s psychotic,” she said flatly. “She wants to be the bride at your wedding.”
“She laughed when I told her not to wear white,” I said.
“And Dad?”
“Nothing.”
I stared out the window at the trees swaying. Anger simmered.
“I’m not letting her do this,” I said finally.
Chloe softened. “Good. What are you gonna do?”
I took a deep breath. “Not sure yet. But she’s not walking into my wedding dressed like me.”
That night, I sat with Evan on the couch. He paced, ready to confront her.
“I swear, Ellie,” he said, rubbing his neck, “if you give me the green light, I’ll handle her myself.”
I shook my head. “That’s exactly what she wants—drama, a scene. Let her think she’s winning.”
Evan paused. “Then what?”
I smiled, though it wasn’t gentle. “I have a plan.”