When my dad invited my younger brother Owen and me to his wedding with the woman he had an affair with, I didn’t want to go. Watching him marry the person who tore our family apart felt unbearable. Our mom was left devastated after 22 years of marriage, while he quickly moved on. After much pressure from relatives, Owen finally agreed to attend—quietly, but with a plan I didn’t fully understand until the day unfolded.
On the wedding day, everything seemed picture-perfect, with Dana, the bride, glowing and cheerful. Owen was polite and calm, even offering to take Dana’s wedding jacket to hang it neatly. Moments before the ceremony, she started scratching and shifting uncomfortably. Her skin turned red, and she had to leave mid-vows due to a severe reaction. She later returned in a plain outfit, visibly flustered, and the ceremony continued awkwardly.
It wasn’t until we were driving home that Owen told me what he’d done. Two weeks before the wedding, he had asked me to order a harmless prank—itching powder. He had used it in Dana’s jacket, not to harm her, but to make her feel a moment of discomfort and helplessness, something our mom had endured for months after being betrayed. Owen didn’t seek revenge, just a moment of empathy.
Our father is now furious, and extended family members say we ruined the wedding. But neither of us has apologized. I didn’t plan Owen’s act, but I didn’t stop it either. In a world where our mom’s heartbreak was brushed aside, letting Dana feel even a moment of unease didn’t feel wrong—it felt like a long-overdue acknowledgment of what we went through.