For over a decade, Greta and I were inseparable. I’m talking about the kind of friendship where you finish each other’s sentences.
Through college heartbreaks, late-night Chinese takeout binges, and every triumph and tragedy life threw our way, we stood side by side.
Greta had always been the glamorous one in our duo. Tall, radiant, with this magnetic energy that drew people to her like moths to a flame.
Me? I was the quieter one, softer around the edges, content to bask in her glow.
Over the years, I’d gained weight gradually, barely noticing as it slipped on like a comfortable sweater. It never bothered me much, and it certainly never seemed to bother Greta.
So when she got engaged the previous winter and asked me to be her maid of honor, I felt that old magic spark between us again.
“It has to be you, Lila,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “You’re my person.”
I squeezed her hands back, my own eyes watering. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
But you know what they say about the best-laid plans, right?
The first crack appeared during bridesmaid dress shopping. During the dress fitting, something shifted in Greta. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. She kept interrupting me mid-sentence, brushing off my suggestions with this brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I think the emerald would work better for the evening lighting. What do you think?” I asked, holding up two fabric swatches against my skin.
Greta didn’t even glance my way. She was staring at herself in the mirror, adjusting her veil.
“Well, some people don’t need to worry about color clashing when they’re not the center of attention,” she muttered.
I laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off.
Maybe Greta was just overwhelmed. Weddings were stressful, right? And wasn’t that just how she got sometimes when she was under pressure?
After we left the boutique, I reached for normalcy the way you reach for a life preserver.
“Want to come back to my place? We could unwind with a glass of wine and those chocolate-covered strawberries you love.”
Greta scoffed. Actually scoffed.
“I’m just going home,” she said, not looking back as she walked to her car.
I stood there on the sidewalk, watching her drive away, my heart cracking just slightly. But again, I brushed it off. Greta’s moods could be strange sometimes. This was probably nothing. Wedding stress, that’s all.
God, I was naive.
The morning of the wedding arrived with that crisp fall light that made everything look like a fairy tale.
But as I stepped inside the venue, the wedding coordinator approached with a pinched smile that immediately made my stomach drop.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “The bride left strict instructions. You’re not to be let in.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “What? I think there’s been a mistake. I’m in the wedding.”
“No,” the woman said flatly. “You’re not.”
A small crowd had gathered by this time, drawn by the commotion. I could feel their eyes on me, burning with curiosity and pity.
Then Greta appeared, resplendent in her white gown, approaching to see what the fuss was about.
“Greta!” I called out, relief flooding through me. “Thank goodness you’re here. There’s been some kind of mistake. They won’t let me in.”
But Greta just looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes. Then she sneered.
“There’s no mistake,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Anyone who’s been trying to ruin my wedding isn’t welcome here.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stood there, stunned and confused.
“Greta, what are you talking about? I would never—”
“Security,” Greta called out, cutting me off. “Please escort her out.”
The next few minutes were a blur of shame and confusion.
Strong hands guided me past shocked faces and whispered conversations.
And there, in the crowd, I saw Brian. Greta’s ex-boyfriend from college, the one she’d dated for two years. He gave me a look that made my stomach twist, like he knew something I didn’t.
The security guard deposited me on the sidewalk like I was trash being taken to the curb.
Days passed in a haze of unanswered text messages and sleepless nights.
The silence was its own kind of violence, cutting deeper than any harsh words could have. I stared at my phone, hoping for some explanation that would make sense of what had happened.
Finally, Greta agreed to meet for coffee.
She showed up 15 minutes late, lips pursed like she was doing me an enormous favor.
“I need to know why you kicked me out of the wedding,” I said gently. “Why did you think I was trying to ruin your special day? You’re my best friend, Greta. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
Greta stirred her iced latte with deliberate slowness, then looked up at me with those same cold eyes from the wedding.
“You were trying to ruin my wedding,” she said matter-of-factly. “I asked you to be my maid of honor, not my competition.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t ask if it was okay to lose weight,” she continued, her voice getting sharper. “You just kept getting thinner and hiding it under those baggy clothes. Sneaky. Like you wanted to steal attention on my big day.”
My jaw dropped. Of all the things I’d imagined she might say, this wasn’t even on the list.
“Are you serious? I’ve been working out because I wanted to feel good about myself. It had nothing to do with you or your wedding.”
Greta leaned in, her voice dropping to a cold whisper.
“You knew I’d invited Brian to the wedding. And guess what? He told me once that he was thinking of asking you out after we broke up. I talked him out of it, obviously. So don’t play innocent with me, Lila. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
The pieces started falling into place. The strange looks, the cold treatment, the paranoia.
This wasn’t about my weight loss.
This was about Greta’s insecurity, and her need to control everything and everyone around her.
“I was just trying to feel good about myself,” I said quietly. “Not take anything from you.”
Greta’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but her words cut like glass. “If you put the weight back on, you can stay in my life.”
I looked at her sitting there in her designer clothes, her wedding ring glinting on her finger, demanding that I make myself smaller so she could feel bigger. And for the first time in our friendship, I saw her clearly.
I smiled. “Sure, Greta.”
Then I stood up and walked out.
For the next month, I hit the gym like it owed me money.
It wasn’t about spite or revenge. It was about reclaiming the part of myself that had been shrinking to accommodate someone else’s insecurities.
Each rep, each drop of sweat, each mile on the treadmill was a promise to myself: I’m done playing small for anyone.
I felt strong. I felt alive. I felt like me again.
That’s when I decided to have a little fun.
I sent Greta a casual text: “Hey! Want to do a double date? Thought it’d be fun. Bring your husband.”
She agreed immediately, probably thinking she’d get to show off her perfect married life to poor, lonely Lila. Maybe she was curious to see how much weight I’d put back on for her.
The night of our double date, Greta showed up in a floral dress, a smirk already playing on her lips. She was clearly expecting me to be heavier than before.
Instead, she found me standing radiant in a sapphire dress that hugged every curve I’d worked so hard for, my arm looped casually through Brian’s.
You should have seen her face!
“Hey Em,” I purred, enjoying the way her smile faltered. “You remember Brian, right?”
Brian squeezed my hand and grinned. “Good to see you again, Greta.”
Greta’s face went through about five different shades of red.
“What is this?” she snapped. “How dare you show up here looking like that? With him?”
“Looking like what?” I asked innocently. “Happy? Healthy? Confident?”
“We’re DONE,” Greta spat, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear. “Our friendship is over!”
I met her glare with a calm, knowing smile. “It was over long ago, Greta.”
She stormed out, dragging her confused husband behind her like a piece of luggage.
Brian turned to me as we watched them leave.
“Well, that went better than expected,” he said with a laugh. “So, now that we’ve successfully knocked Greta down a peg, would you like to go on a real date sometime? One where we’re not just trying to make someone jealous?”
I looked at this man who’d been brave enough to help me reclaim my power, who’d seen Greta’s true colors years ago, and walked away from her toxicity.
“I’d like that,” I said. “I’d like that very much.”
