I hired an actor to be my “groom” at a fake wedding, all to get revenge on my cheating ex. But as we stood at the altar, exchanging fake vows and a not-so-fake kiss, I never could have predicted how this elaborate charade would completely upend my life.
I never thought I’d be the kind of person to stage a fake wedding for revenge. But there I was, staring at my phone, scrolling through photos of Charlie and Samantha’s latest date night. My stomach churned.
“Screw this,” I muttered, tossing my phone aside. That’s when the idea hit me. If Charlie wanted to flaunt his new relationship, I’d show him I could do one better.
I called my cousin Tess. “Hey, you still friends with that actor guy?”
“Ryan? Yeah, why?”
“I need a favor. A big one.”
Two days later, I was sitting across from Ryan in a coffee shop, outlining my ridiculous plan.
“So let me get this straight,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You want me to pretend to be your fiancé at a fake wedding?”
I nodded, feeling a bit ridiculous. “I know it sounds crazy, but —”
“I’m in,” Ryan interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Sounds like fun.”
Over the next few weeks, I threw myself into wedding planning. Dress shopping, venue booking, inviting friends who were in on the plan — it was exhausting but exhilarating.
“You sure about this, Nat?” my friend Kira asked as we picked out flowers.
“Absolutely,” I lied, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.
I nodded, and our lips met. It was just acting, I told myself, ignoring the unexpected flutter in my chest.
After the ceremony, we posed for countless photos. Ryan’s arm around my waist felt oddly comforting.
“You’re a natural,” I murmured as we smiled for another shot.
“What can I say? I’m a method actor,” he winked.
That night, I posted a flurry of wedding photos on social media. “Found my true love,” I captioned one. “New beginnings,” on another.
“Are you sure about this?” Kira asked when I told her. “It’s not just part of the act?”
“It’s real,” I assured her. “Unexpected, but real.”
Things were going great until Charlie found out. He started spreading rumors that our relationship was a sham, that I was paying Ryan to be with me.
When Ryan heard, he was upset. “I thought we were past all this,” he said, his voice tight.
“We are!” I insisted. “Charlie’s just being a jerk.”
I smiled, watching Ryan chat animatedly with the photographer. “Sometimes the craziest plans lead to the best outcomes,” I mused.
As I reflect on everything that’s happened, I can’t help but marvel at the journey. What started as a misguided attempt at revenge led me to true love and personal growth I never expected.
Life has a funny way of working out sometimes. And while I wouldn’t recommend staging a fake wedding as a path to happiness, I can’t regret the choices that led me here — to Ryan, to love, and to a future brighter than I ever imagined.
When we are 20 years old, our concern revolves around the opinions of others about us.
When we reach the age of 20, our preoccupation lies in the thoughts others have about us. By the time we turn 40, we no longer concern ourselves with their opinions. And as we reach 60, we come to realize that they haven’t been contemplating us at all.
The statement about age’s significance was not originally attributed to Ann Landers.
In March, we disproved a Facebook post that falsely attributed the quote to Winston, which stated: “At 20, you’re concerned about others’ opinions; at 40, you stop caring about what others think; at 60, you realize no one ever thought about you at all.”
If we advance seven months, we encounter an almost identical post, except this time the statement is credited to the deceased advice columnist Ann Landers.
The post titled “Aging Gracefully” starts with the statement, “In our twenties, we are concerned about the opinions of others. By the time we reach our forties, we no longer bother about what they think. And when we turn sixty, we realize that they haven’t been giving us any thought at all.”
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