My sister stole my fiancé before our wedding, so I gave her a gift she wont forget.

Calling in the Experts

I locked myself in my childhood bedroom and got to work. First, I called my cousin Derek, who worked in tech security for a company that protected celebrities from stalkers and corporate espionage.

Derek had always been my favorite relative: 3 years older, wickedly smart, and someone who’d never fallen for Maya’s manipulation. When we were kids, he’d been the only one to call her out when she’d lie about breaking things or stealing money from our grandmother’s purse.

“I need a favor,”

I said when he answered.

“Remember when you said I could ask for anything after I helped you through your divorce?”

Derek’s ex-wife had tried to take him for everything, including his dog and his grandmother’s wedding ring. I’d spent three months helping him document her affair and her attempts to hide assets.

When the divorce was final, he’d gotten full custody of his dog and kept everything she tried to steal.

“Name it,”

he said immediately.

I explained the situation: the affair, the money, the planned betrayal. Derek listened without interrupting, occasionally making disgusted sounds.

“Those pieces of shit,”

he said when I finished.

“What do you need?”

Derek had designed security systems for celebrity weddings, installed hidden cameras in offices for corporate investigations, and helped several friends gather evidence of cheating spouses. He understood discretion; more importantly, he understood revenge.

“I need to know everything,”

I said.

“How long this has been going on, what they’ve been planning, whether there are others involved. And I need it documented in a way that can’t be questioned or denied.”

“Give me Jake’s address and phone number,”

Derek said.

“I can have micro cameras installed in his apartment within 2 hours. His phone can be cloned if I can get physical access for 30 seconds. How technical do you want to get?”

“As technical as necessary. And Derek, I need this done legally. Everything has to be admissible if it comes to that.”

“Leave that to me. Jake’s apartment building doesn’t have security cameras, right? And his lease probably includes standard language about management access for maintenance. I’ll pose as a cable repair guy; half the buildings in that neighborhood have been having internet issues this week.”

The Photographer and the Mother-in-Law

Next, I called Chelsea Morrison, the wedding photographer Maya had personally recommended. Chelsea specialized in candid moments and had an impressive portfolio of capturing authentic emotions at weddings.

Her website featured testimonials from brides praising her ability to document the real story of their special day.

“Chelsea, this is Claire Richardson. You’re photographing my wedding tomorrow.”

“Oh my god, Claire! I’m so excited. Mia’s told me so much about you. Are you having pre-wedding jitters? You sound a little stressed.”

Interesting. Maya had told her about me.

“Actually, I’m calling because there’s been a change in plans. I have a very specific shot list for tomorrow, and I need to know you’re willing to capture some unconventional moments.”

“Of course! I pride myself on getting the shots other photographers miss. What did you have in mind?”

“I need you to document everything that happens tomorrow. Everything. Even if it seems inappropriate or uncomfortable. Especially if it seems inappropriate or uncomfortable. Can you do that?”

There was a pause.

“Maya mentioned you might want some dramatic shots. She said you’re really into authentic storytelling. I’m totally on board. Should I bring extra memory cards?”

So Maya had been planning this for a while, setting up her friend to document my humiliation. Perfect.

“Bring everything you have. And Chelsea, there might be some video components to tomorrow’s event. Are you comfortable with live streaming?”

“Absolutely. I do a lot of social media integration. Will this be going on Instagram stories or Facebook Live?”

“Something like that. One more thing: I need you to keep this conversation between us. The surprise elements won’t work if word gets out.”

“Your secret safe with me. Maya always said you were more creative than people give you credit for.”

After I hung up, I sat staring at my phone. Maya had been planning this humiliation for months, setting up her photographer friend to capture my breakdown.

She’d probably imagined viral videos of me sobbing at the altar, content that would follow me forever. Then I made the hardest call of all.

“Mrs. Patterson,”

I said when Jake’s mother answered on the second ring.

“It’s Clare. I have something important to tell you about tomorrow’s wedding.”

Jake’s mother, Patricia, had never liked Mia. She called her “that manipulative little peacock” after Maya had flirted shamelessly with Jake’s married brother at our engagement party, complete with hair flipping and inappropriate touching while his wife was in the bathroom.

Mrs. Patterson was old school Baptist with strong opinions about moral behavior and women who threw themselves at taken men.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

she asked immediately, picking up on my tone.

“You sound upset.”

I told her everything: about finding them together, about the months of lies, about how they’d planned to humiliate me at my own wedding and steal my savings, about the apartment in Portland and the restaurant they wanted to open with my money.

The silence stretched so long I thought she’d hung up. I could hear her breathing, short and sharp, like she was trying to control herself.

“Those sinful children,”

she finally whispered, her voice shaking with rage.

“After everything you’ve done for that boy. After you supported him through… when his own father called him a worthless…”

Jake’s father had been particularly brutal during family dinners, constantly comparing Jake to his successful older brother who worked in finance. I’d spent countless evenings building Jake back up after his father tore him down.

“Mrs. Patterson, I have a plan,”

I said.

“But I need your help.”

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart. That boy has been heading for a fall his whole life, and Mia’s exactly the kind of woman who will drag him straight to hell.”

Mrs. Patterson had been waiting 30 years to put someone like Mia in her place. She’d grown up in a small southern town where women who stole other women’s men were dealt with swiftly and publicly.

She understood the value of a good old-fashioned reckoning. I explained my plan.

Mrs. Patterson listened, occasionally making approving sounds.

“You sure this is legal?”

she asked when I finished.

“Derek’s handling the technical aspects. Everything will be documented properly. And technically, I’m not doing anything except allowing the truth to come out at my own wedding.”

“Good. Jake needs to learn that actions have consequences. And Maya needs to understand that not everyone will just roll over and let her take what she wants.”

“There’s one more thing,”

I said.

“I need you to make sure Jake shows up tomorrow. If he tries to run or cancel, this won’t work.”

“Oh, he’ll be there,”

Mrs. Patterson said grimly.

“I’ll make sure of it. That boy owes you an explanation in front of everyone who came to support your relationship. The least he can do is face the music.”