I was getting married—but I didn't tell my parents.

It was my fifth wedding.

The last four? Total disasters, thanks to them. Every time, they claimed something was "wrong" with the wedding car and somehow scared the guy off.

First was my college boyfriend. We were solid—four years strong. My parents pushed for marriage... then ditched the idea on the big day because his car wasn't "fancy" enough.

Second groom? My boss. He pulled up in a shiny new car they actually approved—until they didn't. Yanked me right out.

Third time, they set me up with someone themselves. The guy brought ten cars to play it safe. Didn't matter. They shut it down before I even stepped outside.

Fourth time? Same story.

I kept wondering—what was so cursed about these cars?

Why push me to get married, only to destroy it every single time?

This year, I was trying again.

Wedding number five.

This time, I was pregnant—with the son of the country's richest man.

I didn't tell my parents. Thought I'd finally outsmarted them.

But just as I was about to get in the car... I saw them sprinting toward me.

"Hannah, you're getting married today? And we had to find out through your cousin's post?"

Mom gripped my arm, looking like I'd slapped her.

Dad clapped Leroy on the shoulder, way too hard. "You're marrying our daughter and didn't even tell us? That's your idea of being responsible?"

Leroy shifted, totally uncomfortable.

We'd agreed—my parents weren't invited.

After four ruined weddings, I couldn't risk it.

The first time, I was 26, marrying Andy, my college boyfriend. We'd been tight since high school.

But the second my parents saw the rented Cadillac, they lost their minds.

"This car's too cheap! Andy clearly doesn't value you!"

"Call it off! Get divorced now!"

It was ridiculous. I didn't want to believe them, but they tore the whole thing apart.

Andy and I broke up not long after.

I figured maybe they just didn't like Andy's background.

So fiancé number two? Charlie—my CEO. Total upgrade. He bent over backwards for them: cash, house, every single thing done their way. Even let them choose the wedding car—a $100K BMW.

Day of the wedding, they saw the car and flipped. Again. Dragged me right out of it.

I asked what was wrong.

They just said, "Something's off. If you marry into that family, you'll never be happy."

But they were the ones who picked the car.

I started thinking maybe they just didn't want me to get married—like all the car drama was just an excuse.

But then, after I gave up on the second wedding, they did a full 180. Begged me to try again. Said they were getting older and all they wanted was to see me walk down the aisle.

I thought about how much they loved me growing up. I got confused.

Maybe Andy and Charlie really were the problem. Maybe that's why my parents fought so hard to stop it.

So for fiancé number three, I picked Edward—their pick. Someone they actually liked.

But guess what? Day of the wedding, they flipped again. Over the car.

I lost it. "There are ten cars here! Are all ten cursed? Do you seriously care about the cars, or do you just not want me to get married?"

They didn't say a word. Just teamed up with the relatives and yanked me away from Edward.

Then came wedding number four. They promised—swore up and down—nothing would go wrong.

But it did. Same chaos, same disaster. By then, I'd seen it four times. I was numb.

I met Leroy when I was thirty.

He spent two years chasing me before I finally said yes.

After we got our marriage license, I didn't want a wedding. But his family? Old money. No ceremony, no acceptance—for me or the baby.

So for Leroy, and the little one growing inside me, I picked the date.

We covered everything. I was sure they'd never find out.

But somehow, they did.

They showed up anyway.

Memories of those four disaster weddings came crashing back. I panicked and ripped my arm from Mom's grip.

"Wrong girl! I don't even know you!"

Mom's crying. "Hannah, we messed up before. But this time, we're really here to bless your marriage!"

Dad's voice cracks. "I know you hate us, but we had our reasons. All I've ever wanted is to see you walk down that aisle."

He claps Leroy's shoulder, eyes soft. "You clearly love her. Just know—marrying into old money's no joke. Take care of my girl."

Leroy glances at me. "They're all dressed up. I think they actually came to support us."

I stay quiet. Seen this scene four times already.

Every time, it was the same act—tears, promises, begging the groom to protect me. Then bam—we'd barely step outside before their faces flipped and they dragged us straight to court for a divorce.

But this time...

Dad pulled out a bank card, eyes glassy. "Hannah, there's $40K on here. From your mom and me."

He looked at Leroy. "I know your family's loaded. Maybe this isn't much to you. But our daughter deserves everything. And if your people ever mess with her—we'll come swinging."

I stared at the card, chest tight.

After two years away, I finally saw it—they'd gotten older. A lot older.

"Hannah, if you don't want us at the wedding, we'll stay out of it. We just came to drop off your gift."

I wiped my tears, eyeing the car. "What about the wedding car...?"

They followed my gaze, then pulled me into a hug. "We checked. It's safe. You and Leroy are gonna be just fine."

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

Was the car actually okay this time?

Leroy shouted from behind, "Babe, let's go! Get in!"

The second I stepped forward, my legs buckled.

That same nightmare slammed back into my head.

I was frozen.

I couldn't take getting yanked out of a wedding car for the fifth time.

"Let's just walk to the hotel."

My parents shared a guilty glance.

"Hannah, we swear—we're not stopping you this time."

Leroy saw me shaking and clapped his hands.

A rose-covered helicopter swooped down and landed right in front of us.

Grinning, he held out his hand. "I knew this still haunted you. So I made a backup plan. No car today—we're flying."

For a second, it felt like magic. My legs steadied.

But the moment I reached for him and moved toward the cabin, my parents stepped in front of us.

Their eyes were still teary, but their faces had gone cold.

Dread crashed into me.

I already knew how this wedding would end.

"Hannah, I'm sorry. I can't let you get on that helicopter."

"Mr. Hart, Mrs. Hart—what's wrong with the helicopter?"

Leroy still thought they were just being cautious. "Don't worry. The pilot's ex-military. He's solid. Hannah and I will be totally safe."

Mom gripped my hand like she was scared I'd vanish. "Please, listen. I'd never hurt you. But that helicopter—it's not right."

Leroy caught the shift in their tone and backed off. "Okay then—we'll take the wedding car."

"No!" they shouted together. "You can't take the car either!"

I let out a bitter smile.

Here we go again.

"Why? You literally said it was fine. You told Hannah to get in," Leroy snapped.

Their eyes darkened. "The car and the helicopter—both are bad. We're not letting our daughter marry you. Just stop."

Then they started dragging me away.

I tore myself free, shaking. "Enough! How long are you gonna keep doing this to me? This is the fifth time!"

Years of pain exploded out of me.

Tears stung my eyes. "Why? Just tell me! I'm thirty-two. If you don't want me to get married, say it! Stop pushing me to the altar just to rip it all apart the second it starts."

Dad tried the gentle tone. "Hannah, I don't want this either. But you can't marry him."

"Why?"

"Because the car and the helicopter both have problems."

That same tired excuse. Again.

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I'm done buying your excuses. I'm getting married today. Period."

I headed for the car—then Mom suddenly grabbed a rock and slammed it into the hood.

"Mom! What are you doing?!"

My stomach dropped. They were way more unhinged than ever.

"If I wreck the car, let's see how you get married!" she yelled, smashing car after car like she'd snapped.

Dad, like he got swept up in her madness, grabbed his own rock and hurled it straight at the helicopter.

I shot them a sarcastic thumbs-up. "You two are unreal. Whatever—I'll walk to the hotel."

I grabbed Leroy's hand and powered forward.

"No! No! Even if it kills us, we'll stop this wedding!"

They came charging again.

I wrapped my arms around my belly. "Mom, Dad, I'm pregnant."

They stopped cold.

"For the baby's sake, I'm begging you. Let this happen. I can't raise my child alone—I won't let them grow up without a dad."

They froze for a second—faces flickering with guilt—then twisted back into something harder.

"Hannah, keep the baby if you want, but you can't marry him. You need to get divorced now."

"If you don't listen, we'll crash the wedding. I already messaged the relatives—they're on their way!"

I wiped my face and stood, shaking. My voice cracked as I screamed, "Why? Why are you doing this? Do you hate me that much?!"

"We're doing this to protect you! The wedding car proves it!" Mom lunged.

I shoved her. "Quit hiding behind that excuse! I'm done with the lies."

Dad saw her hit the ground and slapped me. "Ungrateful brat! You have no idea what your mother's done just to help you get married."

Leroy yanked him off me, already yelling.

From across the lawn, our relatives showed up, spotted my parents being held back, and jumped straight into the fight—no questions asked.

Leroy was pinned by four or five people, face swollen and bleeding. Still, he looked up. "Hannah, don't worry! I'm okay!"

How did we end up here?

I stepped in, sobbing, trying to stop them. I didn't want anyone getting hurt over me.

A kick slammed into my side. I hit the ground.

Blood mixed with tears. I couldn't move.

My gaze landed on the helicopter. Then the wrecked car.

And just like that—it all clicked.

I laughed through the pain as tears kept falling.

Now I knew why my parents always freaked out the second they saw the wedding car.