When my dad called to invite my 12-year-old brother and me to his wedding, I thought the worst part would be watching him marry the woman who destroyed our family. I didn’t expect my quiet little brother to make the day unforgettable.

I’m Tessa, 25, still figuring out adulthood. My brother Owen used to be the sweetest kid—until our dad cheated on Mom with Dana, a woman from work. Mom walked in on them one afternoon, holding a plant she’d just bought. The pot shattered. So did she.She tried to fix it—counseling, letters, prayers—but Dad moved in with Dana three weeks after the divorce papers came. Owen asked me once, “Does Dad love her more than us?” I couldn’t answer.

A year later, Dad called, cheerful as ever, to invite us to the wedding. Owen refused—until our grandparents guilt-tripped us into going.Two weeks before the big day, Owen asked me to order itching powder from Amazon. I should’ve asked more questions. I didn’t.

At the wedding, Owen offered to hang Dana’s white jacket. During the ceremony, she started scratching—arms, neck, shoulders. She bolted mid-vows, returning in a backup dress, red-faced and rattled. The mood was broken.Later, Owen said, “She didn’t cry. But she’ll remember—just like Mom remembers finding them.”Dad’s furious. Dana’s family thinks we’re monsters. Our grandparents want apologies.But I’m not sorry. I didn’t plan it—but I let it happen.And maybe, for once, letting it happen was enough.