Chapter 12 - The Morning After
I read the note twice.
Then I put it facedown on the nightstand.
Ethan watched me.
“You don’t have to answer tonight.”
“I know.”
“You actually know, or you want me to stop talking?”
I leaned against him.
“A little of both.”
He kissed my forehead.
We slept badly.
In the morning, my phone held forty-three messages.
Some were kind.
Some wanted details.
Three people had sent me the same video as if I might have missed it.
My mother had sent six messages about gratitude.
Brooke had sent the complete email thread.
I opened that one.
There it was: the date, the replacement order, the instructions to delay telling me.
No confusion.
No accident.
Then the receipts.
The wedding fund had paid for the hotel, the florist, the band, and the custom gown.
My mother had added some of her own money for upgrades she wanted.
The remaining balance from my father’s money was still in the account she controlled.
I didn’t know what documents governed that money.
I didn’t know what I could demand.
For once, I didn’t pretend certainty just because somebody else sounded confident.
I called Mark.
“Can you help me find the original paperwork?”
“Yes.”
“Not call Mom and fight. Just help me get the records.”
“I can do that.”
Then I called Rosa.
She answered on the second ring.
“Did you get married?”
“Yes.”
“In your dress?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me the rest after you’ve eaten.”
I laughed.
She sent the invoices later that morning.
Mine had been paid from the wedding account.
The replacement had been charged separately to my mother.
The canceled invoice in the email thread reflected my mother’s request; Rosa had kept the original gown safely at the atelier until speaking with me.
Every piece made the story clearer.
And uglier.
I sent my mother one message.
Please send the full accounting for Dad’s wedding fund and copies of the related paperwork. I will review actual expenses with you. I won’t agree to a debt because you’re angry.
Her answer came almost immediately.
Your father would be ashamed of how you’ve treated me.
I stared at the screen.
Then I opened his letter.
Wear something you can breathe in.
May you like
I read it until my hands stopped shaking.
And for the first time in my life, I let my mother’s message go unanswered.
