A week before my wedding, I caught my future mother-in-law, Margaret, quietly snapping photos of my dress. It was strange, but I brushed it off as her usual overbearing behavior. She’d always hovered over the planning, asking oddly specific questions about fabrics and accessories. Looking back, I should’ve paid closer attention.
On the big day, everything felt perfect—until the church doors opened. There stood Margaret, wearing my dress. Identical lace sleeves, matching pearl buttons, even holding a bouquet like mine. On her arm was her boyfriend, both of them beaming like it was their moment.
