At 9:30 p.m., my phone rang.
It was Misty.
“Lucy,” she whispered urgently, barely holding back laughter, “you need to get here. Right now.”
When I arrived, the parking lot was full of guests standing outside in formalwear, whispering, phones out.
Inside, chaos.
Judy stood near the altar, her white wedding dress soaked in thick red liquid. Oliver’s tuxedo was ruined. For a moment, I thought someone had been hurt.
Then I smelled it.
Paint.
Misty pulled me aside and showed me the video.
It started during the toasts. Judy crying happily. Oliver smiling like nothing in the world could touch him.
Then Lizzie stood up.
She calmly told the room that Oliver was a liar. That he’d told her he loved her. That he’d asked her to get rid of a pregnancy. That because of him, I’d lost my baby.
The room exploded.
Then Lizzie revealed the truth—she had been pregnant too.
And when Oliver lunged for the microphone, Lizzie calmly lifted a silver bucket from under the table and dumped red paint over both him and Judy.
She set the microphone down.
“Enjoy your wedding,” she said.

And walked out.
The wedding was canceled. Oliver vanished from town. Judy stopped speaking to us.
As for me, I started therapy. Adopted a cat. Learned to breathe again.
Because as painful and humiliating as it all was, something had finally shifted.
I was free.
Free from lies. Free from guilt. Free from trying to be enough for people who never deserved me.
People say karma doesn’t always show up.
But that night?
It arrived in a silver bucket.
And I won’t pretend—it was beautiful.