When my future sister-in-law destroyed my beloved backyard for her emergency wedding venue, I smiled and stayed quiet. But at her reception, when I presented my special wedding gift in front of all the guests, her triumphant smirk disappeared completely.
Kara had been spoiled her entire life.
At 27, my fiancé’s little sister still acted like the world owed her everything on a silver platter. Her parents, Gene and Lila, had treated her like absolute royalty since the day she was born, and everyone in their family had learned the hard way that it was much easier to just let her have whatever she wanted.
I usually try to stay out of their family drama.
After all, I loved her brother, Colin, deeply, and I honestly believed that love would be enough to get us through anything.
My house wasn’t a mansion or anything fancy, but it was completely mine. I had saved every penny for years, working double shifts and skipping vacations, just to buy it with my own money long before I ever met Colin.
The house itself was small and cozy, nothing that would make the cover of a magazine. But I loved every single inch of it.
The quiet neighborhood with tree-lined streets, the comfortable rooms that felt like home the moment I walked through the door, and especially the backyard that I had poured my heart and soul into creating.
When Colin and I got serious and started talking about marriage, he moved in with me. I didn’t mind sharing the space at all. Truth be told, I never wanted to leave this place, anyway. It had become more than just a house to me.
My favorite place in my house was my backyard. It was more than just grass, flowers, and garden beds.
It was my therapy and the place where I went to think, breathe, and remember who I was.
Every single thing in that yard, I had built with my own hands.
I spent an entire hot July weekend repainting the little white picket fence that ran along the edges, brushing each board carefully until it gleamed like something from a fairy tale.
The roses were my pride and joy. I had planted them along the fence line because they reminded me so much of my late mother. She had grown the exact same variety in her garden when I was little, and every time they bloomed in brilliant red and pink, I felt like a piece of her was still with me, watching over everything I was building.
Those weekends I spent on my knees in the dirt, laying each stone in the winding path, rock by rock, pulling weeds by hand, trimming the grass until it looked like velvet carpet… those were some of the happiest hours of my life.
The wooden trellis was my proudest project of all.
I had built it myself from reclaimed wood I found at a salvage yard, sanding and staining every piece until it was perfect. Then, I trained clematis vines to climb up and over the arch, and when they bloomed, purple flowers spilled down like a waterfall.
It wasn’t perfect in a professional landscaper’s sense, but it was alive and everyone loved it.
Everything was going well in our lives until Kara’s wedding plans took an unexpected turn.
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