The Wedding Toast

The crystal chandeliers of the Rosewood Estate bathed three hundred smiling faces in golden light, but all I could see was the shadow creeping into what was supposed to be my perfect day.
My husband, Dylan, stood on the other side of the ballroom — handsome, relaxed, laughing with his best man.
He believed our life together was just beginning.
He had no idea that tonight, our marriage would turn into a battlefield — and that the first shot would be fired by his own mother.

I was standing near the main table when I saw it — Caroline Ashford’s hand, calm and deliberate, sliding along the edge of my champagne glass.
She looked around, making sure no one was watching.
But I saw everything.

From her glittering purse, she pulled out something small and white — a pill.
Her manicured fingers opened, and it dropped silently, dissolving almost instantly into the golden bubbles.
A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips before she turned away, perfectly composed.

My best friend, Julia, touched my arm.
— “Lori, you’re shaking. Wedding nerves?”
I nodded slightly, keeping my eyes locked on Caroline.

The DJ’s voice echoed through the speakers:
— “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats — the wedding toast is about to begin!”

The room shifted into motion.
Dylan was walking toward me, eyes full of love.
He didn’t know that his mother had just tried to poison me.
He didn’t know what she had planned for me that night.

But I did.
And I had a plan of my own.

For months, I had suspected her.
Anonymous notes. Cold stares. Small “accidents” during the wedding preparations.
Everything pointed to a woman incapable of letting her son go.
So that evening, I came prepared.

When the champagne was served, I switched our glasses.
Hers now held what she had intended for me.
Mine — completely harmless.

Caroline raised her glass high, her voice as smooth as honey.
— “To eternal love!”
Everyone repeated the words in chorus.
And she drank.

For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then her smile faltered.
The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
A murmur swept through the room. Dylan rushed to her side.

— “Mom? What’s happening?”

She tried to speak, but no words came.
Her knees gave out, and she collapsed amid the crowd.
Guests screamed. The DJ cut the music. The ballroom erupted into chaos.

I stood there, motionless — my heart pounding, my mind spinning between shock, fear, and a terrible sense of justice.

Paramedics arrived minutes later.
Dylan clutched his mother’s hand, pale with panic.
When he turned to me, confusion and horror filled his eyes.

— “What happened, Lori?”

I met his gaze and answered softly:
— “I think… someone mixed up the glasses.”

The following days were a blur of headlines and whispers.
Caroline survived, but the scandal exploded.
Toxicology reports confirmed it — a strong sedative had been slipped into her champagne.
She claimed she remembered nothing.
But the security footage told a different story.

Dylan didn’t speak to me for weeks.
When he finally did, there were tears in his eyes.
— “I didn’t want to believe it… but now I see who was really by my side.”

Months later, our life began again — quietly, far from the spotlight.
No grand gestures, no toasts — just us, rebuilding what love had nearly lost.

And sometimes, when I look at the crystal glass sitting on our shelf, I remember the night everything changed.
Because that night, it wasn’t poison that destroyed a family — it was the truth.