Chapter 3: The Messages in My Name
The venue manager introduced himself as Evan and placed his phone on the nearest table.
Isabella moved toward him, but Nathan stepped between them.
“What other messages?” I asked.
Evan opened an email thread.
“At eight twelve this morning, we received this from your wedding account: ‘Please remove the bride’s mother from the scheduled speeches.
Her medication makes her confused, and we don’t want an embarrassing scene.’”
My mother’s hand slipped from mine.
“I never sent that.”
“I know,” I said.
“Mom, look at me.
I would never write that.”
Isabella folded her arms.
“Perhaps you sent it and forgot.
You’ve been emotional all week.”
Nathan turned sharply.
“Stop speaking for my wife.”
Evan scrolled down.
“At eight nineteen, another message requested that your mother’s place at the top table be moved.
It said she would be more comfortable near the service doors.”
“Near the service doors?” I stared at Isabella.
“You wanted my sick mother hidden at my own wedding?”
“That is a disgusting accusation,” she replied.
“I paid toward this reception.
Why would I ruin it?”
“Because you couldn’t control it,” Nathan said.
Isabella pointed at the screen.
“Anyone could have sent those messages.
She probably arranged this whole spectacle because she wanted everyone to hate me.”
The photographer lifted her camera.
“I didn’t arrange the picture.”
“You caught one unfortunate second.”
“I caught twelve,” the photographer replied.
“My camera was in burst mode.”
Isabella’s lips parted, but Evan spoke first.
“There was also a message asking us to remove the framed photograph of the bride and her mother from the entrance table.”
My mom pressed a hand against her mouth.
“That picture was taken the day we found her dress.”
I faced Isabella.
“You knew what it meant to us.”
“I knew you had covered the entire wedding with pictures of your family.”
“There were photographs of Nathan’s family on the same table.”
“Not enough,” Isabella snapped.
The room went still.
Nathan lowered his voice.
“So this was punishment.”
“I did not send those emails.”
Evan tapped the account details.
“The recovery number ends in four-one-six-eight.
Does that number belong to you?”
Isabella’s hand moved toward the silver clutch under her arm.
Nathan noticed.
“Give me your phone, Mom.”
“No.”
“If that number isn’t yours, show us.”
“I will not surrender my private property because your wife is throwing a tantrum.”
My mother stepped forward.
“My daughter is standing in a torn wedding dress, and you’re calling this her tantrum?”
“At least someone finally said it,” Isabella replied.
“She has made today entirely about herself.”
“It is her wedding day,” Mom said.
Isabella gave a short laugh.
“It is my son’s wedding too.”
“And that gave you the right to humiliate his wife?”
Nathan held out his hand.
“The phone, Mom.”
Isabella tightened her grip on the clutch.
“You’ll regret speaking to me this way when you learn the truth about the woman you married.”
My stomach turned.
“What truth?”
Before Isabella could answer, Evan’s phone chimed.
He read the notification, then looked toward the clutch in her hands.
“Someone just tried to erase the wedding account from another device.”
Nathan stared at his mother.
May you like
Evan turned the screen so we could all see the time.
“The deletion request was made less than thirty seconds ago.”
