I’m 25M. I lost my mother in a car crash six months ago, making me guardian to my 10-year-old twin sisters, Lily and Maya. I instantly became a SINGLE FATHER.
My fiancée, Jenna, claimed she would “assist.” She made lunches, braided hair, and declared, “I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TWO SISTERS.” I was utterly blind.
Last week, as I arrived home unexpectedly, I immediately heard her voice—it was ICE-COLD. “Girls, you won’t stay here. I won’t spend my youth raising you. Tell the social worker you want a DIFFERENT FAMILY.”
“DON’T YOU DARE CRY!” she barked. “Go do your homework. I hope you’re gone soon.”
Then I heard her on a call: “They’re upstairs… I just need my name on the DEED TO THE HOUSE. Once they’re adopted, we’re stuck. That inheritance money should be FOR US.”
I felt sick. I retreated to my car, shaking, and resolved: No private argument. Her EXPOSURE HAD TO BE PUBLIC.
I returned, acting cheerful. That night, I played the fool: “Jenna… perhaps I should GIVE UP THE GIRLS.”
Her eyes SPARKLED. “That’s the BEST decision,” she chirped.
“Let’s get married. ASAP,” I added.
“YES! This weekend!” she cried, and she spent days planning a large HOTEL BANQUET.
Meanwhile, I finalized a DIFFERENT PLAN.
At the banquet, surrounded by both families, my sisters beside me, Jenna seized the microphone. “Thank you for coming! We celebrate love, family, and—”
I tapped her shoulder. “I’ll finish this.”
Silence.
I raised a SMALL BLACK REMOTE. “Everyone… we’re here to reveal WHO WE TRULY ARE. So let’s all take a look at JENNA.” ⬇️