When my stepsister shoved me into the pool at my own engagement party, soaking my champagne dress and my dignity, I didn’t cry or hide. I grabbed the microphone and announced one simple rule that turned her “innocent accident” into the most satisfying karma of the night.
My name’s Megan, and I’m 30 years old. A few weeks ago, I got engaged to Colin, the man I want to spend forever with. The kind of love that doesn’t need proving, that just exists quietly and powerfully between two people who’ve chosen each other completely.
But let me back up because you need to understand why what happened at my engagement party cut so deep.
My mom died when I was five. I don’t have many memories of her, just flashes — her laugh, the way she smelled like lavender, and how the house felt warm when she was in it.