When my brother’s cold-shouldered fiancée suddenly treated me like her BFF after he proposed, I knew something was up. I turned down her maid-of-honor request — but then vendors started calling to confirm wedding plans. She’d used my name behind my back… and that was just the beginning.
I’m not a professional planner or anything, but somehow, everyone comes to me when they want an event that sparkles.
Weddings, baby showers, anniversary dinners — I’ve done them all.
Just earlier this year, I planned my boyfriend’s sister’s wedding. Was I a bridesmaid? Sure. Was I also coordinating vendors and picking linens at two in the morning? Also yes.
But here’s the thing about being the go-to person for celebrations: there’s always that one person who doesn’t appreciate what you bring to the table.
For me, that person was my brother’s girlfriend, Sarah.
From the very beginning, Sarah gave me that sugar-coated poison smile. You know the one I’m talking about, right?
She’d make these snide comments like, “You really go all out for these little parties, huh?” Or my personal favorite, “Not everything needs to look like a Pinterest board.”
She never said thank you for the holidays I hosted or the birthdays I threw. Just critiques disguised as compliments.
“The decorations were… interesting,” she’d say, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “I probably would have gone simpler, but that’s just me.”
Every interaction left me feeling like I’d been dipped in honey and rolled in broken glass.
Then Liam proposed.
The moment that ring hit her finger, she flipped like a switch. I’m talking complete personality transplant.
Suddenly she was calling me every other day and tagging me in “maid of honor inspo” boards on Instagram like we were lifelong besties who’d been planning this moment since we were 12.
“Oh my gosh, I saw this centerpiece idea and thought it was amazing!” she’d gush over the phone. “I’m sending you a screenshot.”
It was weird and bewildering, but I assumed she was trying to build a better relationship since we were going to be family now.
A week into the love-bombing campaign, Sarah’s true intentions slipped out.
“I want you to be my maid of honor,” she said during one of our suddenly frequent coffee dates. “And I was hoping you could help with the wedding planning too. You’ve got such good taste. You’d make everything look amazing.”
I nearly choked on my latte.
We weren’t close. We barely tolerated each other at family dinners. But there she was, batting her eyelashes like we were best friends.
“Sarah, that’s really sweet,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I’m booked solid for the first half of the year. I don’t have the time to give your wedding or my maid-of-honor duties the attention they deserve. I’d be happy to be a regular bridesmaid instead.”
Her sweet smile froze, then cracked around the edges.
“Well,” she said, her voice tight, “you planned your cousin’s wedding. And your boyfriend’s sister’s too.”
“I know, but those were different circumstances. I really can’t take on another planning project right now.”
The mask slipped completely.
Her eyes went cold, calculating. “I see.”
After that conversation, Sarah went radio silent. No more daily texts about wedding colors or venue options. No more Instagram tags or Pinterest boards.
I figured she’d moved on, maybe tapped one of her actual friends to fill the maid of honor role.
I was wrong.
Two weeks ago, I got a call from Marcus, one of the hotel coordinators I work with regularly.
“Hey! Just confirming your wedding details. Everything still looking good for the spring date?”
My heart stopped. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your wedding? Sarah said you were planning it and had booked through us again. She mentioned you’d be in touch about the final headcount.”
“Marcus,” I said slowly, “I’m not getting married. And I’m not planning Sarah’s wedding.”
Silence. Then confusion.
Then his voice, now cautious and concerned: “Well… that’s odd. She specifically used your name when she called. Said she was working with you and asked for a 25 percent discount because of our past work together.”
“Twenty-five percent discount?” I felt like I might faint.
That’s when the pieces started clicking together in the worst possible way.
I started making calls.
Every vendor I’d ever worked with — the florist who did those gorgeous cascade arrangements, the photographer who captured my cousin’s perfect sunset shots, the bakery that makes those incredible red velvet cakes.
Sarah had called them all, used my name to ask for discounts, and even told them I’d be in touch to finalize the details.
Some places even had me listed as the official planner!
I didn’t even bother with hello when I called her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, hi.” Her voice was casual, unbothered. “What’s wrong?”
“You know exactly what’s wrong. You’ve been using my name with vendors. Claiming discounts. Making appointments. Without my permission.”
She laughed. “It’s not a big deal. You weren’t going to help anyway, so it’s the least you could do.”
“The least I could do? Sarah, you lied to these people. You used my reputation—”
“Your reputation will be fine. It’s just a few phone calls.”
She honestly didn’t see the issue.
This woman had impersonated me, had used my professional relationships for her gain, and she thought it was no big deal.
“You cannot use my name without permission,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Especially not to scam discounts and make people think I’m involved in your wedding when I explicitly told you I couldn’t help.”
“Scam?” Her voice went sharp. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Back and forth, her acting like I was overreacting and me trying to explain why identity theft (because that’s what this was) wasn’t acceptable.
Finally, I called her what she was.
“You’re acting like an entitled bridezilla, Sarah!”
She hung up on me.
Ten minutes later, my brother Liam called.
“You need to drop this,” he said without preamble. “Sarah’s upset, and you’re making this way bigger than it needs to be.”
“Liam, she used my name without permission. She lied to vendors—”
“The vendors will figure it out. You’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting? She impersonated me!”
“She’s stressed about the wedding. Just let it go.”
That’s when I decided there was no way I was going to drop this.
This wasn’t about being petty or holding grudges. This was about respect, boundaries, and the fact that Sarah was dragging my reputation through the mud.
A week later came the final slap in the face.
I found out through my mom (Sarah couldn’t even tell me to my face) that I’d been uninvited from the wedding.
Not just demoted from the bridal party. Completely cut from the guest list.
“She doesn’t want any negativity on her big day,” Mom said carefully, like she was defusing a bomb. “Maybe it’s for the best. Let things cool down.”
Negativity. Right. Because standing up for yourself when someone steals your identity is negativity.
All I’d done up to that point was politely let the vendors know I wasn’t planning Sarah’s wedding. I even told them it was a “misunderstanding.”
But now, I was out for vengeance!
I contacted every vendor she’d reached out to, plus a few more I knew she hadn’t yet. This time, I explained everything — the impersonation, the lies, the complete disrespect for professional boundaries.
Here’s the thing about building relationships in any industry: reputation matters.
I’d been working with these people for years. Always paid on time, always referred new business their way, and always treated them with respect.
They all agreed to blacklist Sarah.
One by one, every vendor she’d tried to book through my connections shut her out.
Her dream wedding crumbled.
Her Plan B wedding is being held at a chain hotel in the suburbs. No five-tier cake with hand-piped roses — just a thawed-out sheet cake from the grocery store freezer section.
No professional photographer capturing those perfect golden hour shots — just Uncle Bob with his iPhone.
The family group chat has been on fire ever since. Half of them think I went too far. The other half thinks Sarah got exactly what she deserved.
Liam’s barely speaking to me. Mom keeps trying to play peacemaker.
But me? I’m completely unbothered.
I sit here sipping my coffee, scrolling through the Instagram posts from Sarah’s wedding. The generic hotel ballroom with its dated wallpaper and harsh fluorescent lighting. The wilted grocery store flowers. The cake that looks like it came from a gas station.
And I smile.
Because here’s what I learned: when you treat people like stepping stones, don’t be surprised when they stop letting you walk all over them.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.