
My own parents—the ones who always preached character over wealth—told me my wedding was beneath them. They had no idea they were about to miss the most scandalous, headline‑grabbing celebration Colorado had ever seen, and the ultimate comeuppance for their snobbery.
I twisted my engagement ring, staring at my phone: three missed calls from Mom, two from Dad, and a gut‑wrenching string of texts. “Alleliana,” it read, “we simply cannot support this union. Your father and I have invested too much in your future to watch you throw it away on a carpenter from Montana. Until you come to your senses, we won’t be attending this so‑called wedding.”
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