One week before our wedding, I was completely overwhelmed. Between work stress, last-minute planning, and staying at my parents’ place to save money, I could barely keep up.
That afternoon, I left work early, feeling off. As I quietly slipped into the house, I heard voices and paused. Then I saw it.
Patrick — on his knees, pleading.
My mom stood over him, her voice cold:
“Okay. I won’t. But only under ONE condition.”
“Please, Diane. Don’t do this to me,” he begged.
My heart dropped. What was he begging her not to say?
I stepped in. “Don’t do what?”
Startled, they turned to me.
“He’s begging because I told him I’d tell you everything,” my mom said.
“Tell me what?” I demanded.
Patrick grabbed my hands. “Please, babe, let me explain.”
I pulled away.
“He’s been lying,” my mom said. “About who he really is.”
“Stop!” Patrick protested. “She’s twisting it!”
“Shut up!” I snapped, shocked at myself. “Mom, talk.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“He was engaged before. He left her at the altar, ran off with all her savings — the house down payment, everything. He admitted to me he planned to do the same to you.”
“That’s not true!” Patrick cried.
“Is it?” I asked.
He opened his mouth… and stayed silent. That was enough.
Suddenly, everything made sense — the way he avoided joint accounts, had me put the wedding on my credit card, and deflected money talk with “Let’s just focus on us.”
I had mistaken manipulation for love.
“You planned a wedding just to scam me?” I said.
Tears rolled down his face. “I was young… I panicked. I thought money was everything.”
My mom calmly pulled a letter from her purse.
“Noelle contacted me three months ago. She wanted the truth to come from someone close to you. This is our conversation.”
“Three months? You knew?” I asked, stunned.
“I needed proof,” she said. “I wasn’t going to ruin your life on a hunch.”
Patrick turned desperate. “Amanda, your mom never liked me! Noelle lied!”
“What was the condition, Mom?”
“That he leaves. Tonight. No wedding. No excuses.”
Patrick turned to me. “Please, we can fix this.”
“Get out,” I said.
And for once, he did.
Three days later, I stood in front of my wedding dress — untouched, unused. Then I saw it: a tag still hanging from the sleeve.
Balance due: $3,200.
He never paid for it. Just another lie.
Two weeks later, I sat across from Noelle.
“Did he tell you he wanted three kids?” I asked.
“Yep. And that he’d name the first after his dad.”
“He told me his dad died when he was six.”
She laughed bitterly. “Fred’s alive. Found him after Patrick took everything.”
We sat in silence until she said,
“I used to feel stupid for falling for it. But the act was so believable.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
She raised her glass. “To making sure he never does this again.”
“To karma,” I said, clinking mine with hers.