I never imagined my wedding planning would turn into a nightmare, but there I was, key in hand, unlocking the front door of our shared family home a week before the big day.
Dad was away on a business trip, leaving me, my fiancé Jake, and my stepmom Lisa to handle the final details. Lisa had insisted on helping, like always the perfect picture of maternal support in her tight yoga pants and low-cut blouses. At 38, she was only eight years older than me, with curves that turned heads and a laugh that made everyone forget what they were saying. I never liked her a bit, not with the way she forced herself into my life, but I tolerated it for Dad's sake.
The house was quiet as I walked in, save for muffled sounds from upstairs. I kicked off my heels, grabbed the vendor folders from my bag,
