Chapter 6: The Message She Wasn't Supposed to Send
I read it twice.
Then I handed the phone to Aunt Ruth.
She read it.
Her expression didn't change much — just a slight tightening around the eyes.
"When did this come in?" she asked.
"Just now."
She set the phone on the table.
"Don't respond."
"I wasn't going to."
"And don't delete it."
"I know." I picked the phone back up and took a screenshot.
Then I opened my contacts and found Detective Reyes's number from the card she'd left with my mother.
I forwarded the screenshot before I could second-guess myself.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then: *Received.
Don't engage.
We'll trace the number.*
I put the phone in my pocket.
Aunt Ruth was watching me.
"Are you all right?"
"No," I said.
"But I'm not falling apart either."
She nodded like that was the right answer.
We went back into the reception.
Daniel was near the bar talking to his brother, and when he saw my face he excused himself and came straight to me.
"What happened?"
"Later," I said quietly.
"Not here."
He looked at me for a moment, then nodded.
He took my hand and didn't let go for the rest of the evening.
The reception ended at ten.
By ten-thirty, the last guests had filtered out and the venue staff were moving quietly between tables collecting glasses.
Daniel and I sat in two chairs near the window while Jenna and my mother gathered the gifts and the flowers we were taking home.
I showed him the message.
He read it slowly.
Read it again.
"She sent this from the reception," he said.
"Or had someone send it."
"Emily." He set the phone down on the chair arm.
"What does she think she knows about me?"
"I don't know."
"There's nothing to know."
"I know that."
"I mean it.
There is nothing." He was looking at me directly, the way he always did when something mattered.
"Whatever she's implying — "
"Daniel.
I know." I put my hand over his.
"I believe you.
I'm not asking you to defend yourself."
He exhaled.
"She's trying to make you doubt me."
"Yes."
"On our wedding night."
"Yes."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "She really hates you."
"She hates that I'm happy," I said.
"I think those became the same thing for her a long time ago."
Jenna appeared in the doorway.
"Car's ready when you are."
We stood up.
Daniel picked up his jacket.
I took one last look at the hall — the white chairs stacked now, the flowers wilting slightly at the edges, the dance floor empty.
It had been a strange and brutal and somehow still beautiful day.
My phone buzzed again.
Different number this time.
A local Charleston area code I didn't recognize.
I answered.
"Ms.
Calloway?" A man's voice.
Careful, professional.
"My name is Warren Holt.
I'm an attorney.
I apologize for calling so late on your wedding day." A pause.
"I was your father's attorney.
I've been trying to reach you for several months.
I think it's time we spoke about his estate."
The venue lights clicked off one section at a time.
"Mr.
May you like
Holt," I said.
"I'm listening."
