My Predator Cousin Made Out With Every Boyfriend at Family Weddings.

People can change. Maybe not always, maybe not completely, but sometimes.

During the reception, I danced with Marcus. We swayed to the music, and I thought about all the weddings I’d been to, all the pain I’d carried.

Marcus asked: “You okay?”

I replied: “Yeah, I think I finally am.”

He asked: “No regrets about bringing me to Rachel’s wedding?”

I said: “Not a single one.”

He said: “Good. Because I’ve been thinking.”

He pulled back slightly to look at me. I asked: “What?”

He asked: “What would you say if I told you I wanted to go to more weddings with you?”

I replied: “I’d say our families throw a lot of weddings.”

He noted: “I’m not talking about other people’s weddings.”

My heart stopped: “Marcus—”

He said: “I’m not proposing. Not yet. Not here, at your cousin’s wedding. That would be weird.”

He smiled: “But someday soon, I want to. I want you to be the bride, and I want to be the guy crying at the altar because I can’t believe I got this lucky.”

I kissed him right there in the middle of Amber’s wedding reception, a long deep kiss that made my aunt Patricia whistle. When we pulled apart, I saw Amber watching us from across the room.

She raised her glass slightly, a small toast, and smiled. Not the vindictive smile from that night with Tyler, not the satisfied smile from the hallway with Chris, just a genuine happy smile.

I raised my glass back, and then I turned to Marcus and whispered: “Ask me later, when we’re alone and it’s just us. Ask me and I’ll say yes.”

He said: “That’s a pretty big spoiler.”

I replied: “I know.”

He kissed me again: “Fair warning. When I do ask, I’m doing it properly. Ring, romantic setting, probably some terrible poetry I’ll write myself.”

I said: “I can’t wait.”

We danced until our feet hurt, ate too much cake, and left Amber’s wedding around midnight. On the drive home, Marcus held my hand.

I said: “Want to know something funny?”

He asked: “What?”

I noted: “If Amber hadn’t kissed Tyler all those years ago, none of this would have happened. I never would have been angry enough to look into her life, never would have found out about her probation, never would have walked into that county building and met you.”

He asked: “So you’re saying you’re grateful to your cousin for sabotaging your relationships?”

I replied: “I’m saying that sometimes the worst things that happen to us lead us exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

He said: “That’s very philosophical for midnight.”

I replied: “I’m very philosophical at midnight.”

He laughed and we drove home through the quiet streets. I thought about revenge and justice and unexpected love stories.

I thought about the girl I’d been at 19, watching her boyfriend kiss her cousin and feeling her world fall apart. I thought about who I’d become—someone who fought back, even if it was messy and complicated and ethically questionable.

I thought about Marcus, who’d agreed to a bizarre scheme and ended up staying for everything after. And I thought about Amber dancing at her own wedding, trying to be better.

Maybe that’s what growing up is: realizing that people are complicated, that revenge doesn’t always feel good, that sometimes the best outcome is when everyone gets a chance to move forward. Or maybe I was just tired and overthinking things.

Either way, when Marcus proposed three months later on a hiking trail at sunset, with a ring he’d clearly spent too much money on and a poem that was actually pretty good, I said yes without hesitation. We got married a year after that.

It was a small ceremony, just close friends and family. My sister Emma was my maid of honor, Marcus’s brother was his best man, and yes, I invited Amber.

She came with Andrew and she behaved perfectly. No drama, no stealing anyone’s thunder.

She congratulated us sincerely, danced at the reception, and left early with her husband. The next day, she sent me a text: “You looked beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”

I sent back: “Thank you.”

Three words. Simple, polite.

Not quite friendship, but not enemies either. Just two people who’d hurt each other, worked through it in their own messy ways, and ended up in different but better places.

And honestly, that was enough. Because this isn’t a story about forgiveness or redemption or lessons learned.

It’s a story about a girl who got tired of being pushed around. A girl who fought back in the most unconventional way possible.

A girl who accidentally fell in love with her fake date. And a girl who realized that sometimes the best revenge is just living well.

So that’s what I did. I lived well, and I’m still living well with Marcus, with Pancake our terrible cat, with Sunday farmers markets and Friday date nights, and a life that’s exactly what I wanted.

Amber didn’t take that from me. She tried, but she didn’t succeed.

And in the end, maybe that’s the real victory. Not the moment she cried in the hallway, not the moment she realized I’d brought her probation officer to a wedding, but this moment right now.

Where I’m happy and whole and completely myself. That’s the revenge Amber could never have predicted.

That’s the ending I wrote for myself.