Her updo was falling apart. Mascara streaks. She grabbed my hands like I was the EMT.
“Thank God you came,” she said.
“She was never serious about him.”
“What happened?” I asked.
She pulled me close, lowering her voice.
“That girl,” she hissed. “Maren. She was never serious about him.”
I blinked.
“One of her bridesmaids, Ellie, came to me this morning. In tears. Showed me messages. Screenshots.”
She looked almost pleased through her outrage.
“He confronted her.”
“Maren’s been seeing another man,” she said. “Laughing with him about how easy Sayer is. How she’d ‘enjoy the ring and see how long she could ride it.’”
My stomach twisted. Again.
“Did Sayer see them?” I asked.
“He confronted her,” she said. “She called him boring, said she didn’t want to be tied down ‘to a man with a mom like his,’ and left. In her dress.”
“So the wedding is off.”
I pictured it and, against my will, let out a tiny snort.
Mrs. Whitlock squeezed my hands.
“We can’t let this ruin him,” she said. “People are here. Family. His boss. To cancel would be humiliating.”
“So the wedding is off,” I said.
“For now,” she said. “But it doesn’t have to be a disaster.”
“Larkin, you always loved him.”
She pulled back to look me over, head to toe.
Her eyes lit with something that made my skin crawl.
“Larkin, you always loved him,” she said. “You were loyal. Good to him. And look at you now—you’re beautiful. You match him.”
There it was again.
“You and Sayer could have a small ceremony today,” she said. “Just something simple. It would save face. Everyone already knows you. It makes sense.”
“Don’t throw away this chance because your feelings are hurt.”
I stared at her.
“You called me here,” I said slowly, “to ask me to marry your son. At his canceled wedding. To someone else.”
She frowned.
“You’ve always wanted to be with him,” she said. “Don’t throw away this chance because your feelings are hurt.”
I looked at the chaos around us.
And I saw myself clearly for the first time in their story.
The broken glass. The overturned chairs. The empty space where a bride had decided she wanted more.
And I saw myself clearly for the first time in their story.
I wasn’t a person.
I was a backup plan.
I slid my hands out of hers.
“I’m not your replacement bride.”
“No,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not your replacement bride,” I said. “Your son cheated on me, left me, and proposed to my best friend. You don’t get to call me like a spare tire when that blows out.”
“You’d let him be humiliated?” she snapped.
I drove home, hands shaking, heart pounding.
“He humiliated himself six months ago,” I said. “This is just everyone else catching up.”
Before she could answer, I turned and walked out.
No speech. No scene.
Just… left.
Read more by clicking the (NEXT »») button below!
