You know that part in weddings where the officiant asks if anyone objects? Most people take it as a formality. But not my mother. She took it like a personal invitation to ruin my happiness. She stood up with fake tears in her eyes and tried to destroy my marriage before it even began.
But she had no idea that my fiancé, Brian, had the ultimate mic-drop moment waiting just for her.
How We Met
I first met Brian in the most random way — on the metro.
It was late at night, close to midnight. The train car was nearly empty, just a few tired commuters slumped in their seats. I was one of them, my body aching after a grueling 12-hour shift at the hospital where I worked as a nurse.
Across from me sat a guy in a faded navy hoodie and worn-out sneakers, completely lost in a dog-eared copy of The Great Gatsby. His brow was furrowed, his whole world tucked into those pages.
There was something magnetic about the way he sat there, so calm, so unconcerned about everything around him. I found myself stealing glances.
Then, he looked up. Our eyes met. My cheeks burned, and I quickly turned my head, pretending to study the train floor.
He smiled slightly and said, “Fitzgerald has that effect on people. Makes you forget where you are.”
I blinked. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never read it.”
His eyes widened in shock. “Never? You’re missing out on one of the greatest American novels ever written.”
I shrugged tiredly. “I don’t have much time for reading these days.”
We didn’t exchange numbers. Just a nice, fleeting moment. Before stepping off at his stop, he smiled and said, “Maybe our paths will cross again. If they do, I’ll lend you my copy.”
“I’d like that,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.
“Sometimes the best stories find us when we least expect them,” he added with a wink. Then the doors closed, and he was gone.
Fate Steps In
A week later, during rush hour, the metro was jam-packed. I was clinging to the overhead rail when I felt a sharp tug. My purse was ripped from my shoulder by a man who bolted toward the doors.
“Hey! Stop him!” I shouted, but the crowd just froze.
Then, out of nowhere, Brian appeared.
He launched himself through the sea of people and tackled the thief right as the train doors opened. They both tumbled onto the platform, fighting.
I shoved my way out just as the thief broke free and fled. Brian, bleeding slightly from a cut above his eyebrow, was sitting on the ground triumphantly holding my purse.
“Your book recommendation service is very dramatic,” I said breathlessly, helping him up.
He laughed, handing me the purse. “I still owe you a copy of Gatsby.”
We went for coffee afterward to clean up his cut. One coffee became dinner. Dinner became him walking me home. Walking me home became a kiss that left my knees trembling.
Six Months Later
We were head over heels in love. But my mother, Juliette? She hated him from day one.
“A librarian, Eliza? Really?” she scoffed. “What kind of future can he provide?”
“The kind filled with books and happiness,” I shot back.
“Happiness doesn’t pay bills, darling,” she sneered.
My mother had always been obsessed with appearances. She wasn’t content with our upper middle-class life. She wanted people to believe we were wealthy — stretching truths, bragging about imaginary friends with yachts, showing off borrowed jewelry.
So when Brian proposed with a simple sapphire ring, my heart soared.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said softly.
But when I showed my mother, her face twisted. “That’s it? Not even a full carat?”
“Mom, I love it. It’s perfect.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, it can always be upgraded later.”
The Dinner Disaster
Our first family dinner with Brian was a nightmare.
Mom dripped in jewelry and bragged about her “dear friend” with a villa in Monaco. Brian stayed polite, bringing fine wine that impressed my father, Clark.
“Where did you find this?” Dad asked curiously.
“A vineyard in Napa,” Brian replied. “The owner is an old family friend.”
Mom snorted loudly. “How convenient.”
“Mom, please,” I muttered, embarrassed.
“Juliette, enough,” Dad snapped.
That night, Dad pulled me aside. “I like him, Eliza. He’s got substance.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered.
“He makes you happy. That’s what matters. Your mother… she’ll come around. Just give her time.”
I wasn’t so sure.
Wedding Tension
In the months leading up to the wedding, Mom mocked everything.
His career. “Books are dying, you know!”
His clothes. “Doesn’t he own anything besides department store suits?”
Even his family’s absence. “So private they don’t even attend their son’s wedding planning?”
The night before the wedding, she sat on my childhood bed and said coldly, “It’s not too late to call this off.”
“I love him, Mom.”
“Love doesn’t last. Security does. Money does.”
“I don’t care about money. He makes me feel safe.”
“With what? Library books?” she sneered. “I raised you for better.”
I begged her, “Promise you won’t make a scene tomorrow.”
She touched her chest innocently. “I promise to only act in your best interest.”
I should have known what that meant.
The Wedding Day
The historic library venue was magical — Brian’s dream. I walked down the aisle with Dad, rose petals beneath my feet, and saw Brian waiting, eyes wet with emotion.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as Dad placed my hand in his.
The ceremony was perfect… until the officiant asked: “If anyone has objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Silence.
Then the sound of fabric. My mother stood.
Gasps filled the room.
“I just need to speak my truth,” she announced dramatically. “This man is not good enough. My daughter deserves a doctor, a lawyer, not a… librarian.”
I froze in horror.
But Brian smiled. He squeezed my hands and said, “You’re right. She deserves the best.”
Mom smirked, thinking she’d won.
Then Brian pulled out a folded paper and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she frowned.
“Your credit report,” he said calmly.
The color drained from her face.
“You’re drowning in debt, Juliette. Second mortgage, credit cards maxed, a loan denied just last month. You pretend you’re rich, but you’re not.”
The crowd gasped.
“That’s private!” Mom snapped.
Brian chuckled. “And here’s the thing—you dislike me because you think I’m not rich enough for your daughter. But actually…” He paused, looked at me with love, then dropped the bomb.
“I’m a billionaire.”
The room exploded with gasps. Dad nearly choked.
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
“My family has old money,” Brian said. “But I never flaunt it. I wanted someone to love me for me. And your daughter did. Unlike you.”
My mother’s face twisted in humiliation.
“Is this true?” I whispered to Brian.
“Yes. I was going to tell you after the honeymoon. I own this library… and several others.”
“Are you angry?” he asked nervously.
“That you’re rich? No. That you hid it? A little. But I get why.”
“Do you still want to marry me?”
“More than ever,” I said, pulling him into a kiss at the altar as the crowd erupted in cheers.
My mother fled the building in shame.
After the Ceremony
Brian’s parents appeared at the reception — elegant, kind people who had been abroad for charity work. They hugged me warmly.
Later, Dad hugged me tight, whispering, “I had no idea. None at all.”
“Would it have mattered?” Brian asked.
Dad clapped his shoulder. “Not one bit. You’re the man for my daughter.”
That night, under the stars, I got a text from Dad: “Your mother won’t be speaking to you for a while. But I’ve never been prouder. Brian is exactly the man I hoped you’d find.”
I showed Brian, and he smiled. “Your dad’s a wise man.”
“Unlike my mother,” I sighed.
He pulled me close. “In great novels, villains aren’t evil because of wealth. They’re evil because they value the wrong things.”
“Is that Gatsby?” I teased.
“No,” he laughed. “That one’s mine.”
And as we danced, surrounded by books, love, and truth, I realized something:
The richest person isn’t the one with the biggest bank account. It’s the one brave enough to love authentically.
And with Brian, I was the richest woman alive.