Stuart and Dylan had been inseparable since kindergarten. Now 16, they were known at Jefferson High as the kind of students every teacher wished they had more of. Stuart was quiet but brilliant, always ready to help younger kids with their homework without ever asking for a cent. Dylan was broad-shouldered and athletic, spending weekends coaching Little League instead of showing off on the varsity field. Neither came from wealth. Stuart’s mom worked double shifts at the diner, and Dylan’s dad had been out of work for three years. Still,

I always thought the worst thing that could happen at my wedding was the DJ playing the wrong first-dance song. Turns out, seeing my future mother-in-law show up in a red sequined gown and a veil was way higher on the disaster list. My name’s Harper, I’m 25, and I married Cole in my aunt’s backyard. Picture string lights twinkling overhead, pastel flowers everywhere, and the softest lavender and blush tones you can imagine. Cozy, intimate, sweet—the exact opposite of drama. Enter Margaret. She’s 48, rich, polished, and utterly convinced

I never thought my grandma’s will would explode our family drama, but here we are. I’m 27, female, and until a month ago, my life was… normal. Pretty boring, actually. I rented a tiny apartment downtown, worked at a dull insurance office, and spent most weekends at my grandma’s small blue house on the edge of our Midwestern town. Her name was Margaret, but everyone called her Marg. When my older cousin Zack was little, he couldn’t say “Margaret” properly, so the nickname stuck. Marg was the kind of woman