After six months of dating, Chris proposes to Beth. His enthusiastic family runs with the wedding planning — only to include unorthodox items on the program, causing Beth to leave her wedding.
For my 25th birthday this year, my boyfriend, Chris, whisked me off to Hawaii.
It was a fairytale because we had only been dating for six months, and I wasn’t expecting anything. But then, Chris proposed to me on the beach — I said yes, swept away by the enchantment of the moment, although I knew that six months of knowing someone was not enough before marrying them.
Little did I know that fairytale was about to unravel into more drama than I had signed up for.
Beach proposal | Source: Pexels
I wasn’t one of those girls who spent hours dreaming up their wedding. So when Chris’s family, fueled by their eagerness and involvement, took complete control over every detail of the wedding, even offering to foot the bill — I allowed it.
I’ll admit that there were moments when I felt sidelined, especially when I said that shades of blue for the color scheme weren’t my cup of tea.
But contributing to their enthusiasm was the better option than fighting with them.
Then, the big day arrived, and I was completely calm about everything — knowing that Chris’s Mom and sister had sorted everything out. I wasn’t close to my family, so other than my father, they didn’t play any big roles.
Blue wedding decor | Source: Pexels
“Beth,” his Mom, Leeanne, said, fixing my hair. “I want you to walk down the aisle with your eyes closed.”
“What? Why?” I exclaimed, already thinking about tripping over something while walking.
“I can barely walk properly in these heels with my eyes open,” I chuckled.
“It’s just tradition,” Leeanne said. “I did it, too. The whole thing is about seeing your husband first — the first thing out of the darkness.”
“He’s supposed to be the light,” Chris’s sister, Maggie, giggled.
The whole thing sounded strange. It wasn’t anything I had heard of before, but I also knew that people always came up with superstitions and stories.
“I wouldn’t have to wear a blindfold and mess up my make-up, right?” I asked.
“No, just close your eyes and hold onto your father’s hand tightly,” Leeanne said.
When I told my Dad what I needed to do, he laughed, thinking I was joking.
Pair of glittery Jimmy Choo heels | Source: Unsplash
It was absurd, of course. But my wedding only got worse from there.
At the altar, I opened my eyes, expecting the loving gaze of my fiancé, but I got way more than I bargained for.
Chris smiled at me, and after a second, another sight sent shockwaves through me — a woman in a white dress stood behind him.
I couldn’t tell whether he knew she was there from his expression. I wondered who she was, but the murmurs around me revealed her identity — Julia, Chris’s first wife.
“Chris, what’s happening?” I whispered, pointing to Julia. My voice was barely audible amidst the collective gasps.
Woman standing in white dress | Source: Pexels
But before either Chris or I could process this bizarre twist in the ceremony, Leeanne walked down the aisle, holding onto a little boy’s hand. Every face turned to look toward them.
Then, Julia stepped forward and held her arms open for the boy, ready for him to walk in.
“This is Eli,” she said, looking at me. “He’s six years old, and he is autistic. He’s the best part of me, but he’s also part of Chris. Elizabeth, this is our son.”
“But he wouldn’t tell you that,” Maggie chimed in from next to me — she was one of my bridesmaids.
“Did you know about Eli?” Maggie asked.
Boy covering his face | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. The air had become dense with emotion. The crowd’s eyes were on me, but my gaze was fixed on Chris, desperate for an explanation, an excuse, a denial, anything.
But there was none. Instead, he fingered his watch nervously, guilt undeniable on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
“I didn’t know how,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.
I turned to look at Eli, who was holding tightly onto Julia’s hand and looking around the room. I could clearly see Chris’s features all over his face.
“You let me believe that your divorce was admirable and that there were no ties to Julia,” I said. “But you abandoned your family. You abandoned your son.”
“He abandoned Eli when he found out that he was autistic,” Maggie said loudly.
My heart sank. How could I have almost married a man who was so thoughtless and cold? He left his son behind because of something that he was born with.
As the truth unfolded, I felt I was drowning in the weight of everything. Leeanne, upon discovering that Chris wanted to remarry, had orchestrated this dramatic revelation.
Man holding his tie | Source: Pexels
“You’re too young, Elizabeth,” she said. “You’re too young to be caught up in his mess. He couldn’t care for Julia, so she cared for herself and Eli. Chris has disappointed me in many ways, but nothing will make up for the neglect of his own child.”
It turned out that my wedding was just a harsh, public lesson aimed at a man who had turned his back on his responsibilities.
I kicked off my heels, handed them to Maggie, and walked away from the altar — not as a bride but as a woman who had narrowly escaped a life bound to deceit.
The experience was painful — sure, it had only been six months of knowing Chris, but I knew what I had felt for him was real. That’s why it hurt so much when I found out the truth.
People holding passports | Source: Pexels
In the aftermath, I took time to focus on myself. I decided I needed to travel and live life while still young. I needed more bad romances and horrible dates before figuring out who I wanted to be with.
I just knew one thing for sure — I didn’t want to be with someone like Chris. A man who lied about having a son — a son that was rendered invisible to him because he was autistic.
I’m just grateful that the only thing I had to pay for was my wedding dress — which had been returned three days after the so-called wedding.
Even now, when I think about the entire episode, I admit I’m not mad about it all. Leeanne did what she needed to do. And she did it to protect me and that sweet little boy.
Little boy with red hair | Source: Pexels
Has anything unreal happened to you?
Here’s another story for you | Fred is about to get married to Julia when five other women dressed as brides show up and spoil his plans. Julia loves him, and Fred is very convincing. Even after the can of worms is forcefully opened, Julia can’t help but wonder if he is a changed man.
An arrogant customer threw fresh juice at me – but I’m not someone to be walked over, so I gave her a lesson she’ll remember.
When an entitled customer humiliated me and hurled her drink at my face in front of everyone, she thought I’d take it lying down. What happened next was a lesson in why one should never underestimate someone in an apron.
The moment I stepped into the health food store that morning, the scent of fresh produce and herbal teas hit me like a wave. I breathed it in, savoring the familiar aroma that had become a part of my daily routine over the past year. As I tied my apron around my waist, I couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be different somehow…
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another exciting day of juice-making?” My coworker, Ally, called out from behind the counter.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know it! Gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
But as I said those words, a knot formed in my stomach. There was one customer in particular who always seemed to go out of her way to make our lives miserable.
We called her “Miss Pompous” behind her back, a fitting name for someone who acted like she owned the place every time she walked through the door.
I tried to push thoughts of her aside as I started my shift. I needed this job, not just for me, but for my family.
My widowed mother’s medical bills weren’t going to pay themselves, and my younger sister was counting on me to help with her college expenses. This job was my lifeline, and I couldn’t afford to lose it.
As I wiped down the juice bar, Ally leaned in close. “Heads up,” she whispered. “Miss Pompous just pulled into the parking lot. Brace yourself.”
My heart sank. “Great! Just what I needed to start my day.”
The bell above the door chimed, and in she walked, her designer heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to disaster.
Miss Pompous strutted up to the counter, her nose so high in the air I was surprised she could see where she was going. Without so much as a “hello,” she barked her order at me.
“Carrot juice. Now.”
I bit my tongue, forcing a smile. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I started juicing the carrots, I could feel her eyes boring into me, watching my every move like a hawk. The pressure was so intense that my hands started to shake slightly as I worked.
Finally, I handed her the freshly made juice. “Here you go, ma’am. Enjoy your drink!”
She snatched it from my hand and took one sip. Her eyes widened in disgust and her mouth curled into a sneer.
“Uh-oh, looks like someone’s about to unleash their inner drama llama!” I thought.
Before I could even react, Miss Pompous THREW the entire contents of the cup directly AT MY FACE.
The cold liquid splashed across my cheeks, dripping down my chin and soaking into my apron. I stood there in stunned silence, unable to process what had just happened.
“What is this watered-down garbage?” she screeched, her voice echoing through the store. “Are you trying to poison me?”
I blinked, wiping juice from my eyes. “I… I don’t understand. It’s the same recipe we always use.”
“It’s disgusting! Make it again, and this time, use your brain!”
My cheeks burned with humiliation as I felt the eyes of every customer in the store on me. Tears threatened to spill over, but I refused to let her see me cry.
“Is there a problem here?” My manager, Mr. Weatherbee, suddenly appeared beside me, his brows furrowed in concern, though I couldn’t tell if it was for me or for the prospect of losing a customer.
Miss Pompous turned her venom on him. “Your incompetent employee can’t even make a simple juice correctly! I demand a refund and a free replacement!”
To my horror, Mr. Weatherbee immediately began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. Of course, we’ll remake your juice right away, free of charge.”
He then turned to me. “Grace, please be more careful next time. We can’t afford to upset our valued customers.”
My jaw dropped. “But sir, I—”
He cut me off with a sharp look. “Just get the carrots from the fridge, Grace, and help me remake the juice.”
Miss Pompous smirked at me, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In that moment, I felt smaller than the carrot peelings in the compost bin.
For a split second, I contemplated ripping off my apron and storming out, never to return.
But then, like a snapshot, my mom’s tired smile and my sister’s hopeful eyes flashed through my mind. I needed this job. I couldn’t let them down, not when they were counting on me.
So, with a heart hardening like steel, I stood my ground.
I forced myself to meet Miss Pompous’s gaze, refusing to buckle under the weight of her contempt. This entitled woman thought she could buy someone’s dignity with her money, that she could stamp out someone’s self-worth just because she was rich.
Well, not this time.
I wasn’t going to let it slide anymore. I wasn’t a doormat, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my dignity be trampled on without consequence.
You know how they say you fight fire with fire? Well, this was it. A plan began to brew in my mind, bold and risky… but oh so satisfying!
As Mr. Weatherbee turned his back to the juicer and stepped away, answering a call on his cell phone, I made my move.
I casually reached into the fridge behind the counter, my fingers bypassing the neat, uniform carrots until they closed around the biggest, ugliest carrot I could find.
It was gnarled and tough… exactly what I needed.
I locked eyes with Miss Pompous, making sure she was watching.
“One moment, please,” I said, my voice sickly sweet. “I’ll make sure this juice is “perfect” for you.”
Miss Pompous watched with narrowed eyes as I fed it into the juicer.
The machine groaned and sputtered, struggling with the oversized vegetable. Juice began to spray everywhere across the counter, onto the floor, and most satisfyingly, all over Miss Pompous’s designer purse that she’d carelessly left too close to the danger zone.
Her shriek of horror was music to my ears.
“My bag!” she wailed, snatching it up and futilely trying to wipe away the orange stains. “You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry, ma’am. It was an accident, I swear.”
Her face turned an impressive shade of purple. “Accident? You deliberately ruined my three-thousand-dollar purse! I demand compensation! Where the heck is your manager?”
I could feel laughter bubbling up inside me, threatening to burst out. Struggling to keep a straight face, I gestured vaguely towards a group of customers browsing the aisles.
“I think I saw him helping someone over there,” I said, my voice wavering slightly with suppressed mirth.
As Miss Pompous turned to look, I took the opportunity to slip away, ducking behind the stockroom door.
From my hiding spot, I watched as she gave up waiting and stormed out of the store, clutching her dripping bag close to her chest, leaving a trail of carrot juice in her wake.
The bell above the door jangled violently as she slammed it behind her.
I let out a sigh of relief, but the knot in my stomach told me this wasn’t over. Miss Pompous wasn’t the type to let something like this go. I knew she’d be back, and next time, she’d be out for blood.
The next morning, I arrived at work with a swirl of dread churning in my stomach.
Barely an hour into my shift, Miss Pompous burst through the door like a storm cloud, making a beeline for the counter.
“Where is the owner?”
Before I could answer, Mr. Weatherbee emerged from the back room, his face pale. “Mrs. Johnson? Is there a problem?”
“I want to speak to the owner. Now!” she snapped.
As if on cue, the owner, Mr. Larson, appeared. He was a kind-faced man in his sixties.
“I’m the owner,” he said calmly. “What seems to be the problem?”
Miss Pompous launched into a tirade, her voice growing shriller with each word. “Your incompetent employee ruined my expensive purse yesterday! I demand she be fired immediately, and I expect full compensation for my loss!”
Mr. Larson listened patiently. When she finally ran out of steam, he simply said, “I see. Well, let’s take a look at the security footage, shall we?”
My heart skipped a beat. I’d forgotten about the cameras. Oh no.
We all gathered around the small monitor in Mr. Larson’s office. As the footage played, showing Miss Pompous throwing juice in my face and my subsequent “accident” with her purse, the room fell silent.
Finally, Mr. Larson turned to Miss Pompous. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t offer you any compensation. What I see here is an unfortunate accident that occurred after you assaulted my employee. If anyone should be considering legal action, it’s us.”
Miss Pompous’s jaw dropped. “But… but my purse!”
“I suggest you leave now, Mrs. Johnson. And please don’t return to this establishment. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who mistreats our staff.”
With a final glare of pure hatred in my direction, Miss Pompous stormed out, the bell over the door clanging violently in her wake.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “Well, Grace, I hope it was just an accident.”
“Yes, sir. It was! Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?” I lied.
Mr. Larson nodded and walked away. As I hurried back to the juice bar, Ally gave me a high five. “Way to go, Grace! You stood up to the wicked witch!”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Well, that was justice served, with a side of carrot juice! Sometimes, what goes around comes around in the most unexpected ways. And let me tell you, it tastes pretty sweet.
That night, as I recounted the story to my mom and sister over dinner, I realized something important: standing up for myself hadn’t just taught Miss Pompous a lesson, it had reminded me of my own worth.
So, have you ever dealt with entitled people like Miss Pompous? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments. After all, we’ve all got to stick together against the “Karens” of the world, right?
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