Chapter 8 - THE WEDDING IS OFF
The drive back to Ethan’s parents’ house felt like a funeral procession.
Richard drove alone.
Victoria refused to ride with anyone.
She called a car.
Ethan and Maya went to Maya’s apartment with Caroline.
At midnight, Ethan stood in the kitchen staring at nothing.
Maya had changed into sweatpants and one of his old college T-shirts.
Two days before her wedding.
And she had no idea whether there would still be a wedding.
Ethan spoke first.
“I’m sorry.”
Maya looked up.
“For what?”
“For every time I told you she’d come around.”
Maya didn’t answer.
“For every time you said she was cruel and I told you she was just protective.”
Still nothing.
“For making you think you had to earn her approval.”
Maya’s eyes burned.
“That one hurt.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
He looked at her.
Maya folded her arms.
“Your mother insulted my job, my parents, my clothes, my education. She told people I trapped you. She tried to change our wedding flowers because mine looked ‘cheap.’ She invited your ex-girlfriend to my bridal shower.”
Ethan winced.
“I know.”
“And every time, you said, ‘That’s just Mom.’”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
He absorbed that.
No defense.
No excuse.
Just yes.
Maya’s anger softened for half a second.
Then she remembered the key.
The wine.
The fake ID.
The plan to drug her.
She turned away.
“I don’t know if I can marry into this.”
Ethan went still.
“Maya.”
“I love you.”
His eyes filled.
“But love doesn’t magically make this safe.”
“I’ll cut her off.”
“You’re saying that tonight.”
“I mean it.”
“What about next month?”
“I mean it.”
“What about Christmas when she cries?”
“I mean it.”
“What about when your father says family is family?”
“I mean it!”
Maya flinched.
Ethan immediately lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry.”
He stepped closer but didn’t touch her.
“Maya, I’m not asking you to forget tonight. I’m asking you to judge me by what I do next.”
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her father.
COME TO THE HOUSE. NOW.
Then another.
I FOUND THE TAPE.
Maya showed Ethan.
He grabbed his jacket.
At Thomas and Elena Collins’s small suburban home, Maya’s father waited in the garage.
On his workbench sat an old plastic storage box.
Inside was a VHS tape.
A yellow label read:
PINE RIDGE — PHARMACY HALL — 06/14/2000.
Thomas looked twenty years older than he had that morning.
“I should have turned this in then,” he said.
“Why didn’t you?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because Victoria knew your mother was undocumented at the time.”
Maya stopped breathing.
Thomas swallowed.
“She threatened our family.”
Before Maya could respond, headlights swept across the garage door.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Thomas looked outside.
May you like
His face hardened.
Victoria had followed them.
