The night before my wedding was supposed to be magical — full of laughter, love, and candlelight warmth. And it was, right up until Daniel’s mother stood up during the rehearsal dinner and made a toast that shattered everything.

“To the bride,” she said. “You’ll regret this marriage more than I can say. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then she set down her glass and walked out.Everyone froze. Daniel just laughed it off. I did too — at least, I tried to. But deep down, something shifted.

I had always known she didn’t like me. From the start, she treated me like a project — someone unworthy of her son. Her insults were subtle but cutting, dressed in smiles. Still, I loved Daniel. I trusted him. I thought she was just bitter.But after the wedding, Daniel changed. Slowly, then suddenly. Jokes became jabs. Requests became orders. Love became control. I was expected to serve, smile, and stay quiet. His kindness was conditional — offered only when convenient.

At a family lunch, he humiliated me over an undercooked steak. I fled to the bathroom in tears. A knock came. It was her — his mother.She hugged me and whispered, “I told you. But you had to see it yourself.” She wasn’t smug. She was sincere. “He did this to his ex, too. I won’t let him do it to you.”

Together, we documented the abuse — the manipulation, the cruelty. She even testified against her own son. In court, we stood side by side.When he hissed, “You chose her over me?” she replied, “No. I chose what’s right.”We won.Now, I’m healing. Every year on the day I left him, she sends flowers. The card always says the same thing:“Not all villains wear capes. Some wear heels — and carry receipts.”