“Now you’ll never marry my son!” my mother-in-law laughed, setting my wedding dress on fire. I wiped my tears, smiled coldly, and said, “Enjoy destroying that dress, because the wedding was never the real trap.” Her face went completely pale when I made one quick phone call…

thirty-foot projection screen dominating the front of the room.

And on that colossal screen, rendering our current disaster in high-definition reality: a flawless, unobstructed view of this very suite. Margaret Wilson, lighter suspended in her hand, the inferno devouring my satin gown. The comment section scrolling rapidly up the side of the livestream continue reading …