I Blew Up Their Wedding Chapter 1

My brother is gay.

Normally, that wouldn't be a tragedy. But his decision to drag a clueless girl to the altar just to bleed my parents dry for a $150,000 "wedding fund" and a luxury house? That was where I drew the line.

In my past life, I couldn't bear the sight of my aging parents working their fingers to the bone, desperately liquidating their meager retirement accounts to fund his lie. So, I ripped the band-aid off. I outed him. I told them the truth about his secret life.

They didn't believe me.

Instead, they branded me a jealous, toxic spinster who was just trying to sabotage my brother's happiness because I didn't want to help him buy a house. They disowned me on the spot. But Hunter didn't stop there. He took to the massive extended family group chat, dropping deepfaked photos of me, claiming I was a high-end escort bankrolled by married sugar daddies.

Blinded by a cocktail of rage and betrayal, I stormed out of the house. I just wanted to get to the airport. I just wanted to go home.

I never made it. An 18-wheeler ran a red light.

As my soul lingered over the asphalt, tethered to my mangled body, I watched the aftermath. I watched Hunter answer the phone call from the police. I watched his eyes light up. He didn't shed a tear. Instead, he used my literal blood to extort a massive wrongful death settlement from the trucking company.

The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was the sound of my brother, flush with my death money, calling his secret boyfriend.

“Babe, the bitch got hit by a truck. We’re rich. I love you so much. I’m giving it all to you, and we’re getting the hell out of this country to get married.”

Absurd. Vile. Unforgivable.

But then, I blinked.

And I was breathing.

The phantom pain of crushed ribs and shattered femurs still hummed in my nerve endings, but I was sitting upright. I was in the stifling, wallpapered dining room of my childhood home in Ohio. I was looking right at Hunter, who was leading a pretty, doe-eyed blonde through the front door.

My mother lunged forward, grabbing Hunter’s hands with tears of religious fervor in her eyes. "My boy. My beautiful boy! A son is a blessing, bringing a bride home to carry on the Gallagher legacy."

* * *

"Not like your sister," my mother continued, her voice sharpening into that familiar, grating pitch as she shot a disdainful glare in my direction. "Over thirty, completely unmarried, and not bringing a dime of value into this house. Nothing but a bad investment."

The smell of pot roast and the heavy silence of the room crashed into me. I gripped the edge of the dining table, my knuckles turning white. I stared at the scene unfolding before me, the realization washing over my panic like a bucket of ice water.

I was back. I had been reborn into the exact moment Hunter brought his beard, Madison, home for the first time.

This was the day he would casually ask for a hundred and fifty grand in cash to "secure" her, plus the down payment on a four-bedroom colonial in the suburbs. My parents, entirely middle-class and barely scraping by, wouldn't hesitate. Desperate to see their golden boy procreate, they would agree to bleed themselves dry.

I knew the truth. I knew my brother was sleeping with two, maybe three different men in the city.

Last time, my heart had ached for my parents' naive devotion. I hadn't wanted Madison to be collateral damage in his twisted, closeted masquerade. So, I had spoken up.

And the moment the words left my mouth, my father had backhanded me so hard I hit the floor, screaming at me to go to hell for spreading such filth. My mother had thrown her hot tea in my face, telling me to get out, get married, and give my brother my dowry.

I remembered the cruel, mocking glint in Hunter’s eyes as I scrambled up from the carpet.

“Natalie, I didn’t even want to mention that you’re whoring yourself out to rich men in New York, and now you have the nerve to project your sick fantasies onto me? Have you no shame?”

My father had chased me out the door with a wooden chair, screaming that I was a stain on the family name. Hunter had stood on the porch, recording the whole thing on his iPhone to send to the relatives.

And Madison? She had just crossed her arms, taking a deliberate step back from me as if my presence was contagious. “Just because no man wants to invest in a decrepit spinster like you doesn’t mean you have to ruin Hunter’s big day,” she had sneered. “You’re pathetic.”

The memory of the truck’s grill smashing into my spine made me nauseous.

But that was then.

This time? I wasn't going to say a damn word. If they wanted to burn their lives to the ground for their precious son, I would hand them the matches.