My Entitled SIL Erased Us from Her Wedding – I Didn't Let Her Get Away with It

When Taylor is erased from her sister-in-law's wedding, she silently plots the perfect response. But months later, an unexpected package reopens old wounds and offers something she never saw coming. In a story about family, pride, and quiet revenge, two women discover the truth in what's left unedited...

I still remember the moment she said it. We were sitting under a trellised patio at the rehearsal brunch, drinking lukewarm mimosas and trying to keep things light.

My brother, Daniel, looked uncomfortable in his salmon-pink tie. Courtney, his soon-to-be wife, looked like she'd swallowed a Pinterest board and was still chewing.

She raised her glass, eyes skating across our end of the table.

"I know your side's more... casual," she said, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But just try to look presentable, okay?"

We laughed politely. But I felt my mom stiffen beside me. My dad's knuckles whitened around his coffee mug.

We let it go. We always let things go with Courtney.

The next day, we wore the dusty rose and gold like good soldiers. I held her bouquet during portraits. I pinned her sister's corsage when no one else could get it right. We clapped, cheered, smiled for the cameras.

We booked hotels, flew in from three states, followed every rule.

But when the wedding photos and highlight video dropped weeks later, there wasn't a single shot of us. I mean, aside from a three-second clip of my parents smiling awkwardly during the vows.

That was it.

There were no candid laughs, no family hugs. Just Courtney's relatives doing choreographed dances, her bridesmaids tossing petals in slow motion, her side of the church erupting in applause.

I let it sit for two days before texting her.

"Hey! Are there any pics of us siblings? I just noticed that we weren't in the posts."

"Hmm, there aren't any, Taylor. Maybe the photographer didn't think they were worth keeping."

I stared at the message for a full minute. It wasn't worth keeping. It wasn't worth stressing about. But it was clear, Courtney behaved as though we were background extras in a movie about her life.

So, I didn't bother to respond.

Six months passed. I got engaged to Alex. He was a good man who teared up when I showed him the lace sleeves I wanted to add to my dress. He said that it made my skin look like poetry.

We weren't flashy, we were just quiet and deliberate about what we wanted. A simple outdoor ceremony, a champagne tower, and vows written on napkins at midnight. My childhood piano teacher was already crying when she agreed to play "Can't Help Falling in Love" as I walked down the aisle.

"It's going to be perfect, Tay," Alex said. "I can't wait to see the vision come to life. It's not going to be anything like your brother's wedding... it's going to be intimate and romantic."

I didn't disagree with him.

Planning the wedding felt like an antidote. It wasn't a statement, it was just something soft... ours. But even softness needs boundaries. And when it came to the guest list, I drew a firm boundary around Courtney.

We didn't invite her at first. Not out of spite, but clarity. She'd made her position clear with every photo we weren't in.

When we hired Rachel, our videographer, I gave her one instruction.

"I want you to make Courtney feel like she's the star," I said. "Hover near her, smile at her, nod like you're filming the entire time. And then... delete it all."

"A decoy?" Rachel grinned, her eyebrow raised.

"No," I said. "More like a ghost edit, yeah?"

"Got it, Taylor," her eyes lit up. "I'll make sure we get enough footage of the beautiful couple... and enough to mess with your sister-in-law."

This wasn't about revenge, not at all. It was about record-keeping. Because feelings fade, memories get warped... but footage? Footage stays forever. I wanted Courtney to feel seen for once, just like we did. And then, I wanted her to feel exactly what she made us feel.

Erased.

Rachel smiled like she understood my soul and helped herself to a mini chocolate tart I'd brought to our meeting.

"It's going to be good," I said, smiling back.

The tension was still raw and I wasn't interested in pretending with Courtney. But two weeks before the wedding, she cornered me at family dinner.

She slid into the chair beside me, all smiles and manicured nails.

"I might have to work right before and after, Taylor..." she said, purposely dragging my name. "But I should be able to make it."

She spoke brightly, as if we'd been chatting about it for months.

"That's fine," I blinked. "The Airbnb's booked whether you're in it or not."

Her smile faltered for half a second. Then she sipped her wine.

"Can't wait to see what colors you and Alex went with. It's a blended wedding, huh? Hopefully it's not too... casual."

"Oh, no," I said. "Very formal. Black tie. Big energy. It's going to be incredible."

She didn't need to know that my bridesmaids and maid of honor were all going to wear Converse in bright colors beneath their gowns.

Also, I made sure her invitation said 'Cortnee' and not 'Courtney'.

The day of the wedding was perfect. Lush gardens, a sky like watercolor. Everything felt both vibrant and calm, like the world knew not to interrupt. Alex looked at me like I was the last unread poem in the world, something to be cherished slowly... timeless.

There was no noise in his gaze, just reverence. People cried. People danced barefoot under string lights and didn't care if the grass stained their feet. It was the kind of night that makes you forget the word regret.

Rachel worked her magic. She was calm, seamless, and invisible in all the right ways. Courtney got the lens. Her smile, slow nods, and flashes of attention were all captured on camera. But she never got the memory card. Rachel knew exactly what to do.

We posted the teaser clip on a Monday morning. There was just a soft piano melody and slow cuts of us kissing in the sunset, holding hands beneath a flower arch. There was a cut of Alex spinning my little niece in circles, and my dad tearing up as he gave his speech.

There was even a few seconds of Daniel hugging Alex and my mother fixing her lipstick.

The video ended with our hands intertwined, gold bands catching the light like some vintage film still.

It was perfect! And the best part?

No Courtney.

About 15 minutes later, while I was making myself a cup of tea, she called me.

"Taylor!" she shrieked. "Where am I in the video?! This is so petty and mean! I was there! And there's absolutely no record of me in that stupid video!"

I leaned against the kitchen counter, tea warm in my hand, and took a slow sip. It tasted like clarity.

"Oh? Really? I suppose you're right... But I think our videographer didn't think the footage was worth keeping, you know? I mean, isn't that what you said to me?"

There was silence.

I pictured her leaning back on her chaise, one heel off, her mouth open in disbelief.

"You know I looked amazing, Taylor! My hair was flawless! My body hasn't been in better shape... How could you cut me out like this? My own sister-in-law..."

I raised my eyebrows, even though she couldn't see.

"My friends are asking why I'm not in any clips, Taylor," she continued. "You made me look like some random extra. You can only see my elbow in the cut of your father's speech."

I let the silence stretch out, long enough for her to sit in it.

"You're being dramatic," I said softly. "Seriously, Courtney, it must have been a mistake during editing."

She screamed and hung up.

My brother texted me while I was making tacos for Alex and me. I was just mixing the guacamole when my phone buzzed.

"Tay. Courtney's freaking out! I'm guessing this is about the video?"

"Yup," I replied.

"You could have told me, Taylor. I don't need to deal with this. My wife is losing her mind. She's so upset... and for what? What did you get from this?"

"She could have included us, Daniel. Alex and I are not strangers. There isn't one photo of you and I in your wedding album."

My brother didn't bother to respond.

Weeks passed. I half-expected a formal apology. Something polite and civilized. A card, maybe. A bouquet of peonies, even.

A "you looked beautiful," just to break the silence.

But Courtney doesn't do grace. She does power. And control. The kind that looks like a compliment but feels like a leash.

At Thanksgiving, she showed up in white. A floor-length dress with lace sleeves, similar to my wedding gown. I think even her lipstick was bridal. She behaved like it was a second wedding. Like she was the bride again.

She didn't make a scene. Courtney's too polished for that. But while I was stirring warm cider in the kitchen, she slipped in like smoke and closed the door behind her.

"Petty's not a good look on you," she said quietly.

I didn't turn around right away. I stirred the pot, I let the cinnamon drift upward.

"Neither is erasing an entire side of the family, Courtney," I said.

"You think I'm the villain, don't you?" she hissed, moving in closer.

"No," I said, finally looking up. "I think you're a main character in your own head. But in real life? Not every camera belongs to you."

That one landed. She turned sharply, eyes flashing, almost knocking over a bottle of olive oil.

"You don't get it. You've always had the close family, Taylor. The warm parents. I was marrying into a Hallmark movie and I didn't want to feel like the outsider."

That stopped me.

She looked down at the counter, her voice softer now.

"I just wanted things to look perfect. My family's chaotic. Yours... isn't. I thought if I controlled it all, I could belong."

"You could have just said that, Courtney."

Her eyes flicked up, defensive and exposed all at once.

"It's easier to be the wicked witch, Taylor."

That made me laugh. Not mean, just tired.

"Well, congratulations, Court, you nailed it."

"So..." she smiled faintly. "Is there a full wedding video? Or am I just... a ghost?"

"Rachel has 200 gigs of raw footage somewhere. But she knew exactly what not to back up," I replied, adding chopped herbs to the roast potatoes.

A week after Thanksgiving, I got a text from Courtney.

She showed up with a small white envelope and a soft, tired smile. Inside was a flash drive and a handwritten note.

"In case you ever want to remember the day without resentment. Mine, not yours."

That night, while Alex slept beside me, I curled under the duvet and opened it on my laptop. It was her wedding. Daniel's wedding. And it was footage that we'd never gotten to see.

But there I was. Standing at the front, laughing with my brothers. Dancing barefoot with my niece. Clinking glasses with my dad. Adjusting her veil before the ceremony. We looked like a family. A real one.

We had belonged. All of us.

The next day, I walked into Rachel's studio.

"I want the raw footage," I told her. "Everything. Nothing cut."

She smiled without asking why.

That weekend, Courtney came over. I made brownies, she brought ice cream, and we sat on the couch like we hadn't been at war not even a year ago.

"Brownies first," she said, mouth full. "Then we cry."

I hit play.

There she was. At my wedding. Smiling, dancing, holding my mother's hand as they spun under the lights. Telling Daniel, clear as day.

"Your sister is the most beautiful bride I've ever seen."

I looked over. Her mascara was already smudging.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Same," she reached for a tissue, then for my hand.

We didn't say much after that. We just passed the brownies and ice cream back and forth and let the footage play on.

No edits. No gaps. No ghosts.

Just two women learning how to be real again.

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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.