While my ex-husband married my sister, I stayed home. I needed to verify it personally when my other sister poured red paint on them and placed him in the center of the toast.
Hi, I’m Lucy. I am 32 years old, and until about a year ago, I thought I was enjoying the kind of life that most people only dream about.
I had a steady job, a nice place to live, and a husband who left me little notes in my lunchbox and kissed my forehead before work.
I was in charge of billing for a dental group just outside of Milwaukee. I enjoyed it, even though it wasn’t fancy. I liked my schedule and my walks at lunch.
My husband, Oliver, used to remark, “Hi, beautiful,” even when I was still putting on acne cream. I liked how my toasty socks felt once they dried.
But maybe I should have known that life wouldn’t always be that easy.
You will learn more about chaos from the fact that I grew up with three younger sisters than anything else.
Judy is now thirty years old, tall, blonde, and the life of the party. Even at 13, she had that quality that made everything seem effortless. People handed her free things for no good reason.
Lizzie, the middle child, is calm and thinks things through. She once used charm and logic to convince a mall cop to drop a shoplifting case against her.
Last but not least is Misty, a 26-year-old who is both our employer and our baby. She is theatrical and unpredictable. One time, she got into a fight at Starbucks because her name was spelled “Missy” on the cup.
I was the oldest and the one who stayed calm. The first to get braces, the first to acquire a job, and the one Mom used to warn the others when they were about to do something stupid.
“Do
Most days, I didn’t mind it. I liked being the one who could mend the walls or pay the taxes.
They called me whenever they needed something, like money for rent, a ride to a job interview, or someone to pull their hair back at three in the morning. And I was always there.
And when I met Oliver, it finally seemed like someone was there for me.
He was 34 years old, worked in IT, and had a calm presence that made you think everything would be fine. He made me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt, poured tea for me when I had headaches, and tucked me in when I fell asleep on the couch while watching true crime movies.
After two years of marriage, we found our rhythm. On leisurely Sundays, we engaged in board games while dressed in our pajamas, shared private jokes, and ordered takeout on Fridays.
We were going to have our first child in six months. We had already picked out names: Nate for a boy and Emma for a girl.
Then, on Thursday night, he got home late. I was in the kitchen making stir-fry vegetables when he appeared in the doorway with his hands clenched.
He said, “Lucy,” and “We need to talk.”
I remember wiping my hands with the dish towel, and my heart skipped a beat, but I wasn’t scared. I thought he had either crashed the car or lost his job again. Something that can be mended.
However, his face remained unchanged. I still remember it. Pale and drawn. He looked as if he had been holding things in for days.
After taking a long breath, he said, “Judy’s pregnant.”
I blinked.
At first, I laughed. I actually laughed. My throat suddenly made this dry, surprised sound.
I stared at him and asked, “Wait, are you talking about my sister Judy?”
He didn’t say anything. Just one nod.
Everything moved. All I can remember is the sound of the pan behind me frying. There was a deep quiet that made it hard for me to stand.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he blurted out without explanation. “Lucy, we didn’t plan it.” In short, we fell in love. I was done lying to you. I can’t help it. I’m so sorry.
As I looked at him, my hands involuntarily went to my stomach. I could feel our unborn daughter kick during the moment when everything fell apart.
He said softly, “I want a divorce.” “I want to be with her.”
“Please don’t hate her,” he said again, as if it would help in any way. This was my fault. I’ll take care of the two of you. I swear.
I don’t know how I got to the couch. I can still see the walls closing in on me as I sat there and looked. The smell of garlic burning was everywhere. I didn’t know what to do with my hands while my baby was moving.
The fallout happened quickly. Mom told me that “love is complicated” and that she was “heartbroken.” Dad didn’t say anything. He kept mumbling that “kids these days have no shame” when he read the newspaper.
Lizzie, the only person who seemed mad at me, stopped coming to family dinners. She called the whole thing “a slow-motion train wreck.”
People mumbled. Not just family, but also coworkers and neighbors. My old high school lab buddy even sent me a fake-sweet Facebook message that said,
“I heard what happened.” If you ever want to talk, just remember how she used to flirt with my prom date and steal my pencils.
Then the worst part happened. the stress. The sickness didn’t go away. Every night, the sadness was heavy on my chest. Three weeks after Oliver set off the bomb, I started to bleed.
It was too late.
I lost Emma in a cold, white hospital room with no one else around.
Oliver didn’t show up. Not even a call. Judy once sent me a text that said, “I’m sorry to hear you’re hurting.”
That was all. That was the only thing my sister said.
They decided to be married a few months later since they were going to have a baby. My parents paid for the wedding, which had 200 guests and took place at the most beautiful place in town. They said, “The child needs a father,” and “It’s time to move on.”
They asked me to come. Like I was a distant relative or a coworker. That fake gold writing had my name on it, and I remember clutching it.
I didn’t go. I couldn’t go.
That night, I stayed in. I donned Oliver’s old hoodie and watched bad romantic movies. The kind where everyone is happy and in love in the end.
Before things went wrong, I sat down with a bottle of wine and some popcorn and tried not to see Judy walking down the aisle in a dress I had helped her choose on a random girl’s day.
It was around 9:30 at night. when my phone rang.
Misty was there.
Even though her voice was shaking, she was laughing in a way that made me sit up right away.
“Lucy,” she said, partly shrieking and half whispering, “you won’t believe what just happened.” Put on your clothing. Anything goes: a sweater, jeans, or anything else. Drive to the restaurant. You don’t want to miss this.
I paused because I was shocked.
“What’s going on?”
She had already hung up.
“Just trust me,” “Come on over,” “Now.”
I gazed at my phone for a few seconds after Misty hung up. I held my thumb over the screen in case she called back to say she was just kidding.
No, she didn’t.
Instead, the soft hum of the dishwasher and the distant sound of traffic outside only disturbed the calm in my apartment. I wanted to ignore it all, including a part of myself. I had already been through enough pain, and to be honest, I didn’t think I could handle seeing any more.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Misty’s voice. It wasn’t pity. There wasn’t even any pity. There was something else there, something alive and sharp, like she had just seen a matchstick fall into gasoline.
And I wanted to see that thing for myself, whatever it was.
After five minutes, my heart was beating as I drove across town.
When I pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, I knew right once that something was wrong.
People in suits and gowns were standing outside the gate in groups with their arms crossed, phones out, and eyes wide, whispering. A woman in a lilac outfit really gasped when I strolled up the sidewalk.
It was hard to breathe inside. Everyone was talking in a low voice. The front of the hall seemed to be the busiest place, where several people were stretching their necks.
And there they were.
As Judy stood near the floral archway, her white wedding dress was covered in what looked like blood.
Her hair stuck to her shoulders. Oliver was next to her, trying to calm her down. His tuxedo was ruined and dripping red.
For one terrible minute, I thought there had been a violent event. My stomach flipped.
Then I smelled something.
There was no blood involved. It was paint. There was thick, sticky red paint all over the floor, the tablecloths, and the expensive white roses they had probably spent a lot of money on.
I wasn’t sure what I had just walked into, so I stood still in the foyer until I saw Misty toward the back.
She was trying so hard not to laugh that she looked like she was going to explode.
She said, “Finally,” and grabbed my wrist. “You did it.” “Get going.”
I said, “What happened?” while still in a daze.
She bit her lip and drew me to the corner.
She took her phone out of her purse and said, “You need to see it for yourself.” “I got it all.” Please sit down.
We were huddled down toward the rear wall, away from the pandemonium, when she hit play.
The video started around the toasts. As everyone lifted their glasses and Judy wiped her eyes with a napkin, Oliver smiled like the cutest golden puppy in the world. Thereafter, Lizzie stood up.
I blinked and looked at the screen.
Lizzie. Lizzie is the one who doesn’t make a sound. The sister who is always “fixing” things and who hadn’t been to any family festivities in almost a year.
She seemed to be in charge. But her voice had a tinge of shakiness that made it sound suspicious.
“Before we toast,” she added, “there’s something everyone needs to know about the groom.”
People shifted in their chairs. As the room got quiet, you could hear the air escaping.
Lizzie said, “Oliver is a liar.” “He told me he loved me. He said he would leave Judy. He told me to get rid of the kid because it would “ruin everything.”
I could hear the audience gasp on the video. Someone dropped a fork.
Judy stood up on television and blinked as if she hadn’t heard her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she replied. “
Lizzie, on the other hand, did not back away.
“Because of this man,” she said, pointing to Oliver, “Lucy lost her child.” He is unfit for you. He destroys everything he touches.
There was a buzzing sound in the room. People were turning in their chairs, talking softly, and pulling out their phones. The footage slowly zoomed in as Misty tried to steady her hands.
After that, Lizzie dropped the hammer.
“Are you wondering why I wasn’t there? Why didn’t I answer your calls? That’s why I was pregnant. with his baby. And until now, I couldn’t face any of you.
I couldn’t breathe.
The room burst in the video. I could clearly hear someone mutter, “What the hell?” ” over gasps and whispers. Misty zoomed in, which made the camera move a little bit.
“You filthy woman!” yelled Judy.
Lizzie, who is always calm, said, “At least I finally saw him for what he is.”
Then things went crazy.
Oliver’s face twisted in anger as he rushed for her and tried to grab the microphone. As she ran in behind him, Judy yelled. The chairs were scratched. People started to get up.
Lizzie stayed calm as she reached under the table, got a silver bucket, and carefully spilled a full load of red paint on both of them.
There was yelling all over the place. People were taking pictures and videos of the event using their phones. Oliver muttered something that made no sense while Judy’s hands twisted in front of her and red paint dripped down her arms like in a violent horror movie.
Lizzie put the microphone on the table.
“Enjoy your wedding,” she said in a calm voice.
And she departed right away.
The video was over.
I couldn’t talk, so I looked at Misty’s phone.
Finally, I said, “Wait.” “Was he with Lizzie too?”
Misty nodded and put her phone back in her purse.
She rolled her eyes and continued, “He also tried to sleep with me.” It was in March. He told me a sad story about how alone he felt and how Judy didn’t understand him. I told him to find someone else to cry with.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“Are you okay? Misty asked softly.
I blinked a few times.
Saying, “I think so,” or “I mean, no.” But also kind of? I don’t know.
We both turned back to the front, where Judy and Oliver were still trying to get the red paint off their clothes. Most of the people who came had already left, some with fake smiles and others shaking their heads. There was no indication of the cake for the wedding.
It was like seeing a skyscraper break apart in slow motion and knowing that no one inside was worth saving.
After a while, I strolled outside to enjoy the cool night air. Misty followed me.
We stood close to the edge of the parking lot without saying a word.
After a minute, she continued, “You didn’t deserve any of this.”
I looked at her quickly.
My answer was, “I know.” “But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe again.”
Of course, the wedding was called off. The florist took care of the centerpieces. My parents tried to be kind, but it was like trying to put out a fire in a house with a garden hose.
Judy didn’t talk to any of us for weeks.
Oliver almost completely disappeared from the town’s chatter. Some people say he moved to another state. Some people said that when he tried to make things right with Lizzie, she told him to stop calling her.
What about me? I started seeing a therapist. The cat I adopted, Pumpkin, likes to lie on my tummy, which is where Emma used to kick. I started walking again during lunch breaks. I didn’t go out right away. First, I had to figure out who I was. But I smiled more.
Even though it was dirty, unpleasant, and very painful, I knew something had changed.
I was free.
Let the lies go. without guilt. Furthermore, I’m not the version of myself that was always trying to prove myself to people who didn’t deserve me in the first place.
Some people say that karma takes a long time to show up, and occasionally it never does.
But that night, when I witnessed Oliver splashing paint in front of 200 people and Judy screaming in her ripped dress, it felt like karma was finally showing up.
It looked like this.
in a silver bucket. And I have to say, that was pretty nice.
