Everyone in my family knows I’m the unofficial event planner — weddings, showers, birthdays, you name it. Everyone except my brother’s fiancée, Sarah. From the moment we met, she handed me sugar-coated insults about my “Pinterest projects” and never once thanked me for a single holiday I hosted. But the second Liam proposed, she flipped. Suddenly she was calling me nonstop, tagging me in inspo boards, acting like we’d been best friends for years. One week into this makeover, she invited me to be her maid of honor — and not-so-subtly hinted she wanted me to plan the wedding. I declined politely, explaining I was booked. Her smile cracked. The sweetness vanished overnight.

I assumed she moved on. Then vendors began calling to confirm “my” wedding plans. Sarah had used my name — and my professional reputation — to book venues, secure discounts, and tell people I’d be finalizing details. When I confronted her, she shrugged like I was being dramatic. “It’s the least you could do,” she said. My brother backed her, claiming I was overreacting. Days later, my mom told me I was uninvited from the wedding entirely because Sarah didn’t want “negativity.”

That was the moment I stopped being accommodating.

I called every vendor she’d contacted, plus several more. This time I told the truth: she’d impersonated me, misused my name, and tried to exploit my relationships. Vendors don’t take kindly to liars. One by one, they blacklisted her. Her dream wedding dissolved overnight.

Sarah’s Plan B was a chain hotel ballroom, fluorescent lights, wilted flowers, and a thawed grocery-store cake. My family group chat exploded with opinions, but I stayed quiet.

I watched her wedding photos online — the cheap décor, the awkward smiles — and felt nothing but calm satisfaction. When you treat people like stepping stones, you shouldn’t be surprised when they refuse to be walked on.

Would I do it again? Absolutely.