When my dad called to invite my 12-year-old brother Owen and me to his wedding, I thought the worst part would be watching him marry the woman who tore our family apart. I had no idea Owen had something unforgettable planned. I’m Tessa, 25, still trying to figure life out after watching my family crumble. Owen used to be the sweetest kid always drawing pictures for our mom and crying at cartoons. But after Dad cheated on Mom with Dana, his perfect coworker, something changed in him.
Mom caught them together one afternoon. She dropped a plant she’d just bought, and I swear something inside her shattered too. She begged Dad to work it out, went to therapy alone, wrote him letters, folded his laundry trying to save 22 years of marriage. But it meant nothing. Dad moved in with Dana three weeks after filing for divorce. Owen asked me in the dark one night, “Does Dad love her more than us?” I had no good answer.
A year later, Dad invited us to his wedding with Dana. We refused. But our grandparents pressured us“Be the bigger person,” they said until Owen finally agreed. Two weeks before the wedding, Owen asked me to order itching powder on Amazon. I didn’t ask questions I had a feeling, but I let it go. Maybe I wanted someone to hurt, even just a little, for what our mom endured. On the wedding day, Owen offered to hang Dana’s white jacket. She smiled, thanked him, and handed it over. He came back out calm as ever.
When the ceremony began, Dana looked flawless. But a few minutes in, she began scratching. First her arms, then her neck. By the time they reached the vows, she was frantic scratching, twitching, tugging at her jacket. She ran inside mid-ceremony, red and miserable. She came back in a rumpled dress, trying to laugh it off, but the mood was broken. Dad was confused. “What even happened?” he asked me. “Maybe detergent?” I shrugged. Driving home, Owen finally said, “She didn’t cry. But she’ll remember today. Like Mom remembers that day forever.” Now, Dad isn’t speaking to us. Dana’s family calls us evil. But I haven’t apologized. Because I didn’t plan it. I just didn’t stop it. Maybe that makes me wrong. But I’m not sorry.