Home » My stepmother thought she had it all figured out when she locked me inside to stop me from reaching the altar. But one small thing she overlooked turned her perfect day into a total disaster. Buckle up. This still doesn’t feel real. I’m 30. My dad is 61. And about three months ago, he told me he was getting married again. “To Dana!” he said, all bright-eyed like a teenager. “We’re doing a small wedding. Just close friends and family.” Dana. Fifty-something. Wears heels like they’re glued to her feet. Talks like she’s always in a sales pitch. And I swear she’s made of 70% Botox and 30% bad vibes. Now, I never hated Dana. I tried. Really, really tried. I laughed at her jokes. Even the ones that made no sense. I ate every dry, overcooked casserole with a smile. I bought her a nice scarf one Christmas. She never wore it. From the beginning, she made it clear I wasn’t welcome. Not outright, of course. That would’ve been too honest. But in a thousand little ways. Every time Dad and I were getting close again—like, sharing old memories or laughing at stupid movies—Dana would get weird. She’d start coughing. Or say she had a migraine. Once, she actually claimed she had food poisoning twice in the same week. My dad would say, “She’s just sensitive, honey. You know how her stomach is.” Yeah, sensitive to not being the center of attention. She treated me like I was a ghost, not a daughter. Not even a person. Just something left over from a life she didn’t want to deal with. Still, I showed up. Every holiday. Every birthday. Every Sunday call. Then came the big call from Dad. “We’ve got a date!” he said. “Next month! Dana and I are tying the knot!” “That’s great, Dad,” I said, fake-smiling through the phone. “I’m happy for you.” “She wants to keep it small. You know how she is. Just close people.” “Of course,” I said. “Whatever makes you both happy.” I never got an invite. No text. No card. Nothing from Dana. But I didn’t make a thing of it. I figured she was just being… her. I still wanted to support my dad. I bought a simple powder blue dress. Matched it with some low heels. Took Friday off work so I could drive down early and help out. Maybe set up chairs or something. Two weeks before the wedding, Dad called. “Dana says you should stay with us,” he told me. “No need to waste money on a hotel.” That gave me pause. “She said that?” I asked. “Yeah, she insisted. Said she wanted to make it easy for you.” Huh. That didn’t sound like Dana. But I didn’t argue. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there Friday night.” And I was. I got there a little after seven. Dana opened the door and smiled, sort of. “Long drive?” she asked. “Not too bad,” I said, dragging my bag inside. She handed me a mug of lukewarm tea and pointed toward the guest room. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Don’t wake us—we’ve got a big day tomorrow.” She disappeared into her room. Dad came out a few minutes later in sweatpants and slippers. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Glad you made it.” We stayed up chatting. Just the two of us on the couch, reminiscing about road trips and the time our old car broke down in Kentucky. Around midnight, I went to bed feeling good. Hopeful, even. I had no idea what was waiting for me. I woke up the next morning feeling a little nervous, sure, but mostly excited to see my dad get married. Whatever I thought of Dana, this day was still important to him. I rolled over and grabbed for my phone. Gone. Weird. Mayve I left it on the kitchen counter? I veguely remembered plugging it in before going to bed. No big deal. I got up, put on my dress and make up, and padded into the kitchen. Nothing. No phone. No coffee. No breakfast smells. No sounds. The whole place felt… dead. I checked the key hook. Empty. My stomach dropped a little. I walked to the front door and turned the handle. It didn’t budge. The deadbolt was locked. I tried the back door. Same thing. Then the windows. Every single one was locked tight. I called out, “Dana?” Nothing. I knocked on her bedroom door. Silence. Louder knock. “Dana? Hello?” Still nothing. That’s when I saw it. A bright yellow Post-it sitting neatly on the kitchen counter. Written in Dana’s handwriting with curly, try-too-hard letters. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just not your day.” I stood there, frozen. She locked me in. She took my phone. My keys. My voice. Like I was some kind of problem she could shut behind a door. For a minute, I didn’t know what to do. My hands were shaking. My chest was tight. Then came the rage. I yelled her name. Pounded on the walls. Paced like a lunatic. All dressed up in powder blue, with nowhere to go. Mascara already smudging under my eyes, I stared at the door like I could will it open. And then—thank God—I remembered something. She took my phone. She took my keys. But she didn’t take my Apple Watch. I tapped the screen like my life depended on it. The tiny keyboard felt impossible, but I made it work,…. (continue reading in the 1st comment)

My stepmother thought she had it all figured out when she locked me inside to stop me from reaching the altar. But one small thing she overlooked turned her perfect day into a total disaster. Buckle up. This still doesn’t feel real. I’m 30. My dad is 61. And about three months ago, he told me he was getting married again. “To Dana!” he said, all bright-eyed like a teenager. “We’re doing a small wedding. Just close friends and family.” Dana. Fifty-something. Wears heels like they’re glued to her feet. Talks like she’s always in a sales pitch. And I swear she’s made of 70% Botox and 30% bad vibes. Now, I never hated Dana. I tried. Really, really tried. I laughed at her jokes. Even the ones that made no sense. I ate every dry, overcooked casserole with a smile. I bought her a nice scarf one Christmas. She never wore it. From the beginning, she made it clear I wasn’t welcome. Not outright, of course. That would’ve been too honest. But in a thousand little ways. Every time Dad and I were getting close again—like, sharing old memories or laughing at stupid movies—Dana would get weird. She’d start coughing. Or say she had a migraine. Once, she actually claimed she had food poisoning twice in the same week. My dad would say, “She’s just sensitive, honey. You know how her stomach is.” Yeah, sensitive to not being the center of attention. She treated me like I was a ghost, not a daughter. Not even a person. Just something left over from a life she didn’t want to deal with. Still, I showed up. Every holiday. Every birthday. Every Sunday call. Then came the big call from Dad. “We’ve got a date!” he said. “Next month! Dana and I are tying the knot!” “That’s great, Dad,” I said, fake-smiling through the phone. “I’m happy for you.” “She wants to keep it small. You know how she is. Just close people.” “Of course,” I said. “Whatever makes you both happy.” I never got an invite. No text. No card. Nothing from Dana. But I didn’t make a thing of it. I figured she was just being… her. I still wanted to support my dad. I bought a simple powder blue dress. Matched it with some low heels. Took Friday off work so I could drive down early and help out. Maybe set up chairs or something. Two weeks before the wedding, Dad called. “Dana says you should stay with us,” he told me. “No need to waste money on a hotel.” That gave me pause. “She said that?” I asked. “Yeah, she insisted. Said she wanted to make it easy for you.” Huh. That didn’t sound like Dana. But I didn’t argue. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there Friday night.” And I was. I got there a little after seven. Dana opened the door and smiled, sort of. “Long drive?” she asked. “Not too bad,” I said, dragging my bag inside. She handed me a mug of lukewarm tea and pointed toward the guest room. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Don’t wake us—we’ve got a big day tomorrow.” She disappeared into her room. Dad came out a few minutes later in sweatpants and slippers. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Glad you made it.” We stayed up chatting. Just the two of us on the couch, reminiscing about road trips and the time our old car broke down in Kentucky. Around midnight, I went to bed feeling good. Hopeful, even. I had no idea what was waiting for me. I woke up the next morning feeling a little nervous, sure, but mostly excited to see my dad get married. Whatever I thought of Dana, this day was still important to him. I rolled over and grabbed for my phone. Gone. Weird. Mayve I left it on the kitchen counter? I veguely remembered plugging it in before going to bed. No big deal. I got up, put on my dress and make up, and padded into the kitchen. Nothing. No phone. No coffee. No breakfast smells. No sounds. The whole place felt… dead. I checked the key hook. Empty. My stomach dropped a little. I walked to the front door and turned the handle. It didn’t budge. The deadbolt was locked. I tried the back door. Same thing. Then the windows. Every single one was locked tight. I called out, “Dana?” Nothing. I knocked on her bedroom door. Silence. Louder knock. “Dana? Hello?” Still nothing. That’s when I saw it. A bright yellow Post-it sitting neatly on the kitchen counter. Written in Dana’s handwriting with curly, try-too-hard letters. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just not your day.” I stood there, frozen. She locked me in. She took my phone. My keys. My voice. Like I was some kind of problem she could shut behind a door. For a minute, I didn’t know what to do. My hands were shaking. My chest was tight. Then came the rage. I yelled her name. Pounded on the walls. Paced like a lunatic. All dressed up in powder blue, with nowhere to go. Mascara already smudging under my eyes, I stared at the door like I could will it open. And then—thank God—I remembered something. She took my phone. She took my keys. But she didn’t take my Apple Watch. I tapped the screen like my life depended on it. The tiny keyboard felt impossible, but I made it work,…. (continue reading in the 1st comment)

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Author wtfmusicReading 10 minViews 7Published by June 16, 2025

When my stepmother kept me inside to prevent me from getting to the altar, she believed she had everything worked out. Her ideal day was completely ruined by a single, little detail that she failed to notice.

Hold on tight. I still can’t believe this.

I am thirty years old. My father is sixty-one. He also informed me that he was getting married again around three months ago.

He said, “To Dana!” with the enthusiasm of a teenager. A simple wedding is what we’re planning. Only family and close pals.

Dana. Fifty-something. wears high heels as if they were cemented to her feet. She always sounds like she’s making a sales pitch. She’s composed of 30% negative energy and 70% Botox, I promise.

I didn’t despise Dana. I made an effort. Really, really made an effort. Her jokes made me chuckle. even the ones that were illogical. I grinned as I ate each tasteless, overdone casserole. One Christmas, I bought her a lovely scarf.

It was never worn by her.

She made it obvious right away that I wasn’t welcome. Of course, not completely. It would have been too forthright. In a thousand small ways, though.

Dana would act strangely whenever Dad and I were reestablishing our relationship, such as when we were laughing at dumb movies or reminiscing about the past. She would begin to cough. Say she had a migraine instead. She even once reported having food illness twice in one week.

My father used to say, “Honey, she’s just sensitive.” You are aware of her stomach’s condition.

Yes, hypersensitive to avoiding the spotlight.

Instead of treating me like a daughter, she treated me like a ghost. Not even a human. It was simply a remnant of a life she didn’t want to face. I did, however, turn up. All holidays. each birthday. each Sunday.

Then Dad made the big call.

“We have a date!” he exclaimed. “Next month! I’m getting married to Dana!

“That’s fantastic, Dad,” I murmured over the phone, pretending to smile. “I’m glad for you.”

She wishes to keep things modest. You are aware of her personality. Only those who are close.

“Obviously,” I said. “Whatever brings you two joy.”

I never received an invitation. Don’t text. Not a card. Dana has not responded. However, I didn’t give it much thought. I assumed she was simply being herself. I still desired to help my father.

I purchased a basic dress in powder blue. paired it with a pair of short heels. I took Friday off from work in order to arrive early and lend a hand. Perhaps arrange chairs or something.

Dad called two weeks prior to the wedding.

He informed me, “Dana says you should stay with us.” “There’s no reason to spend money on a hotel.”

That made me think.

“That’s what she said?” I inquired.

Yes, she emphasized. claimed that she wanted to make things simple for you.

Oh. That sounded nothing like Dana. I didn’t argue, though.

“All right,” I replied. “I’ll be there on Friday evening.” I was, too. It was just after seven when I arrived.

Dana opened the door with a half-smile.

“Distance?” she inquired.

As I pulled my luggage inside, I remarked, “Not too bad.”

She indicated the guest room while passing me a mug of lukewarm tea.

Down the hall is the restroom. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, so don’t wake us.

She vanished into her chamber. After a few minutes, Dad emerged wearing slippers and sweatpants.

Then he pulled me into an embrace and said, “Hey, kiddo.” “Happy you made it.”

We chatted into the night. Just the two of us on the couch, remembering the day our old car broke down in Kentucky and going on road vacations.

I felt well when I went to bed at midnight. Even hopeful. What awaited me was unknown to me.

Sure, I was a bit anxious when I got up the following morning, but I was more thrilled to watch my dad get married. No matter how I felt about Dana, he still valued this day.

After rolling over, I reached for my phone.

Lost.

Strange. Could I have left it on the counter in the kitchen? I vaguely recall plugging it in before turning in for the night. Not a huge deal. I padded into the kitchen after getting up and putting on my clothes and makeup. Nothing.

No phone. No coffee. There is no fragrance of breakfast. Not a sound. It felt dead all around.

I looked at the crucial hook. empty. I felt my stomach sink a bit.

I turned the handle of the entrance door after walking over there. It remained stationary. There was a deadbolt locked. I attempted the rear entrance. The same thing. Next, the windows. They were all securely locked.

I yelled, “Dana?”

Nothing. I rapped on the door of her bedroom. Quiet.

Make the knock louder. “Dana? Hi there?

Nothing has changed.

I saw it at that moment. There’s a bright yellow Post-it note on the kitchen counter, nicely placed. written with curled, too-hard letters in Dana’s handwriting.

“Avoid taking things personally. Simply said, it’s not your day.

I just stood there, motionless. I was shut in by her. My phone was taken by her. My keys. My voice. As if I were a problem that she could hide behind a door.

I was at a loss for what to do for a moment. I had trembling hands. My chest was constricted. The anger followed. I called out her name. hammered the walls. paced erratically. They had nowhere to go and were all dressed in powder blue.

I gazed at the door as if I could will it open, mascara already smudging beneath my eyes. Then, thankfully, I recalled something.

My phone was taken by her. My keys were taken by her. She did not, however, take my Apple Watch.

As though my life depended on it, I tapped the screen. It seemed impossible to use the small keypad, but I managed to text my close buddy who lived close by.

Me: Please give me a call NOW, Tasha. I was locked in by Dana. I’m serious.

Tasha:What? Where have you gone?

Me: Dad’s apartment. The guest room. My phone was taken by her. The keys are gone. The door is deadbolted.

No response for a moment. Next:

Tasha: I’m in the car already. Arrive by ten o’clock.

I might have started crying. I nearly did. After ten minutes, I heard someone knocking. Then there were voices. The front door then opened with a squeak.

With her hair in disarray and her eyes wide, Tasha stood there in her leggings. A startled concierge stood next to her.

“You appear to have just stepped out of a scary movie.”

I sprinted over to her. “Tasha, she locked me in.” similar to a dog.

Tasha gave a headshake. “Incredible. Are you prepared to ruin a wedding?

“Oh,” I murmured, clutching my heels, “I was prepared from birth.”

We hopped into her car as if it were a getaway car. The wedding had already begun when we arrived at the location. mellow music. rows of visitors. My dad and Dana were heading down the aisle together.

Everything appeared flawless. Until I shoved the rear doors open. Shocks. actual gasps.

Everybody looked. Dana’s expression contorted as if she had seen a ghost. I feared my dad may lose circulation because of how tightly she gripped his arm.

I didn’t even blink as I strode down the aisle.

“Dad,” I remarked in a quiet but firm voice, “you forgot something.”

He blinked. “Honey? What are you doing?

I displayed the Post-it note.

He studied the note. His hands began to shake.

Dana leaped in. “I—I simply wanted no drama!” You are aware of her tendency to make everything about herself.

I looked over at her.

“You prevented me from attending your wedding by locking me in a room. You abducted me because you really wanted me gone. Dana, you are the drama. I am simply the manifestation of the truth.

That was the fissure that caused everything to fall apart.

My aunt got to her feet. “Is that the reason you forbade me from inviting the other members of the family?”

“She told me her stepdaughter refused to come,” said another in a whisper. lied directly in front of me.

The whisper grew. A wave of incredulity and indignation. With watery eyes, my dad gazed at Dana. “Have you done this?” he inquired.

Despite opening her mouth, she remained silent. He let her arm fall.

He apologized to the group. “Give me a minute.”

He left through the back. I did the same. I told him everything outside. From Tasha’s rescue to the Apple Watch and the missing phone. He remained motionless, gazing at the gravel.

“She really did that to you?” he finally said.

I gave a nod. Dad, I didn’t want to jeopardize anything. All I wanted was to be present.

He didn’t respond. simply went back inside. With a racing heart, I followed.

He cleared his throat as he approached the altar.

“This is not something I can do.”

Another gasp. Dana appeared to be about to pass out.

He declared, “I don’t want to live my life with this person.” “The wedding has begun.”

There was utter silence in the room.

Dana broke down in tears. “I completed it for us! I desired perfection in everything!

However, perfection was never the goal. It has to do with control. She also didn’t expect me to defend myself.

Dad left the condo a few weeks later. Before Dana could even unpack her outfit, he filed for annulment. “I saw her for who she really was because of you,” he added, glancing at me over dinner one evening.

For years, I was portrayed as challenging. sentimental. Someone who causes difficulties. However, none of those things applied to me. All I was doing was trying to keep my lone remaining parent safe.

In other cases, being the antagonist in someone else’s fairy tale simply indicates that you were the protagonist in your own.

Furthermore, I will never regret showing up.