On the day of Elise and Rowan’s wedding, they found themselves stuck in a limousine, crawling along the motorway in a never-ending traffic jam. Instead of keeping her mother’s guests entertained, Elise’s daughter, Clara, had taken over the event, stealing the spotlight entirely. Would Elise confront her daughter at the wedding or teach her a lesson in a different way?
Weddings are supposed to be magical, aren’t they? A day celebrating love, months of careful planning, and a promise to stand by each other forever.
At least, that had been the dream—until my daughter, Clara, turned it into complete chaos.
It all began with traffic, naturally. Rowan and I were trapped in our limousine, surrounded by a sea of brake lights caused by a lorry accident several miles ahead. We didn’t worry about seeing each other beforehand—we’d both been married before—so the pre-ceremony meeting wasn’t an issue.
“Time check, please, Leo?” I asked through the intercom.
“Hard to say, Elise,” the driver replied. “I’ll weave through as best I can and get you to the altar!”
We were definitely running late.
“Love, call Clara,” Rowan said, tapping the seat anxiously. “Make sure she’s managing the guests, starting the band, keeping everything under control.”
I dialed my daughter. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said. “We’re stuck in traffic. Can you keep things running at the venue? We’ll be about 30 minutes late—Rowan says to start the band.”
“Of course, Mum!” Clara chirped, her tone sweet and reassuring. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it all under control!”
I exhaled, feeling slightly relieved—until my phone buzzed ten minutes later. It was my sister, Nora.
“Elise, you need to get here now! Clara’s—” Her voice cut off, the call dropping.
“She’s what?” I muttered, redialing, but it went straight to voicemail. A sick feeling settled in my stomach. We were stuck, helpless in traffic.
“What’s she done?” I asked Rowan, explaining what had happened.
“Honestly, love,” he said grimly, “I’d bet Clara’s grabbed a mic and is singing with the band.”
When we finally arrived at the venue, I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me. Clara stood on the steps, glowing, holding a bouquet of cream roses, dressed in a simple white wedding gown. Photographers swarmed, snapping photos as she posed with a radiant smile. Milo, her boyfriend of barely a year, looked uncomfortable beside her in a suit.
My heart stopped.
“What the hell is this?” I shouted, storming up the steps.
Clara turned, a mix of surprise and smugness on her face.
“Oh, Mum! I’m so sorry you missed the ceremony! It was beautiful!”
“My ceremony? You stole my ceremony? Clara, are you out of your mind?” I asked, stunned.
“Well,” she said casually, brushing her dress, “since you were late, we couldn’t waste the setup. The officiant had to leave, and you know I hate delays. So… I married Milo!”
I was speechless. Months of planning, my dream ceremony with Rowan—it had all been hijacked by my own daughter.
“You’ll get married another day!” Clara chirped cheerfully. “Milo and I are walking to the reception hall now. Guests will throw rice and confetti. Want to join?”
I shook my head.
Rowan, standing behind me, looked furious. “Say the word, love,” he said, “I’ll put a stop to this right now.”
I took a deep breath. “She’s still my daughter,” I said. “I’ll handle this differently. No need for you to intervene.”
The reception was surreal. Clara pranced around, oblivious to the confusion she caused. Guests whispered questions, unsure of what was happening. When dessert arrived, Clara cut into our wedding cake, complete with the delicate sugar flowers we had chosen.
Nora pulled me aside, fuming. “She locked me in the bathroom and took my phone! Why didn’t you stop her?”
I smiled. “Revenge is best served cold.”
Later that evening, Clara knocked on our hotel room door. She wanted the honeymoon tickets. I handed them over—with a twist. The so-called Bali trip was actually an Arctic adventure, freezing and challenging—far from her ideal luxury vacation.
Two days later, Clara called, furious. “How could you, Mum? We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, freezing, with nothing to do!”
I laughed silently. “You asked for the tickets, darling. Now you’re married. Figure it out.”
Meanwhile, Rowan and I celebrated with family and friends at a private gathering a week later. The reception was even more magical than we had imagined, complete with all the gifts we had originally planned to receive. Clara, unsurprisingly, wasn’t invited.
And so, while Clara had hijacked our wedding, Rowan and I had the last laugh—our marriage intact, our Arctic honeymoon unforgettable, and a valuable lesson served to Clara in her own style. Karma, after all, has a way of balancing the scales.