At my wedding, my mother-in-law Linda wore a full-length white lace gown, stealing the spotlight on what was supposed to be my day. Cameras flashed, whispers spread, and I felt invisible in my own dress. My husband Jeff and I exchanged horrified looks, but I tried to remind myself, “Don’t give her the power.” I let it go, paid to have her edited out of the photos, and moved across the state to keep distance.

Years later, my brother-in-law Dylan got engaged, and I warned his fiancée, Sarah, about Linda’s antics. Sarah assured me she’d spoken to Linda, who promised to behave. But when Linda arrived at their wedding—wearing the exact same white lace dress, this time with a red sash—I knew history was repeating itself.

Linda clung to Dylan like she was the bride, laughing too loud and photobombing every picture. Then came the moment no one expected: the photographer called her out. “Not you, ma’am. Just the bride and groom. Or wait… you’re the bride?” Linda froze, flustered by the pointed remark.

The crowd burst into laughter. Linda insisted she could wear what she wanted, but the illusion had shattered. Dylan stood by Sarah, pulling her close as Linda stormed off, muttering about disrespect.

The rest of the wedding went smoothly. Weeks later, Sarah shared the photos—beautiful, drama-free shots of just the happy couple. As for Linda? Well, we all wondered what white dress she might wear next. Some people never learn.