Just as our wedding music began, my stepdaughter Amelia vanished. The ceremony halted, panic rising. Minutes later, faint knocking led us to a locked supply closet—inside, we found her crying, clutching her flower basket. Her whispered words shattered the day: “She said I needed a timeout.” She pointed to my sister-in-law, Melanie. Amelia had been…
Just as our wedding music began, my stepdaughter Amelia vanished. The ceremony halted, panic rising. Minutes later, faint knocking led us to a locked supply closet—inside, we found her crying, clutching her flower basket. Her whispered words shattered the day: “She said I needed a timeout.” She pointed to my sister-in-law, Melanie.
Amelia had been ecstatic to be the flower girl, attending every fitting and practicing for weeks. But Melanie, obsessed with her own daughter Emma being the center of attention, had locked Amelia in the closet just before the ceremony—jealous her “miracle child” wasn’t in the spotlight.When confronted, Melanie coldly dismissed it as no big deal: “She’s not even your real daughter.”
