Sebastian sent back only two words: "Stop it."
He was certain I'd never walk away from the wedding. In his mind, a woman like me, without him, would never marry at all.
But there were things that mattered to me far more than getting married.
I trimmed the message down, line by line.
I was still trying to leave our relationship its last shred of dignity when Beatrice sent me a link to a video.
It was the wedding vlog she'd posted, barely up an hour.
She showed off all the little touches Felicity had arranged just for her.
A cartoon welcome standee of the happy couple, the bride done up in a dress identical to Beatrice's own bridesmaid gown, and even the tiny figures on the wedding cake looked half like her.
Only then did it hit me: the invitations had only carried the groom's name. There was no bride on them at all.
The Hensons had accepted me from the start with their noses pinched shut. In their hearts the ideal daughter-in-law had always been Beatrice.
And in the video, Sebastian showed no sense of where the line was, dancing the opening dance of the reception with her.
The two of them moved perfectly in step, as if they'd been made for each other.
At the end of the video, I heard Felicity's voice: "When she married in, I was afraid she'd bring a virus into my house. When it comes time to step over the fire basin, make sure that fire burns nice and high."
But what truly cut into me were the comments under her video.
"Has Seb finally come to his senses? I always said that woman wasn't good enough for you."
"Bea's so great, and the way she feels about you, all of us guys have seen it."
"Not gonna lie, that woman really isn't good enough for Seb. Last time we all had dinner together, I thought about how her parents have cerebral palsy and couldn't even bring myself to eat the dishes she'd touched."
I recognized the man behind that last comment. His name was Adam Norris.
My company happened to have business dealings with his, and to help him land a connection,
I swallowed my pride and took my company's competitor out to dinner, finished a whole bottle of imported liquor to smooth things over.
The day Adam got his contract, I threw up until my stomach cramped.
Back then he'd said to me, "Ma'am, if anyone ever says a bad word about you again, I'll kill them."
And I'd only given him a pale little smile and told him not to mention it.
Everything I did was just to fit into Sebastian's circle of friends.
From the very first time we met, I'd felt the hostility from Beatrice and his group of brothers.
They'd bring up things I'd never been part of, tell jokes I couldn't follow, skip over me when they were handing things out, leave me standing off to the side.
I once told Sebastian about the undercurrent his friends held against me.
But he'd only looked at me, pained, and said, "Bea's the only girl, and everyone's close with her, so of course they overlook you a bit and look out for her more. Don't be so sensitive."
I couldn't bear to make things hard for him, so I told myself I'd try harder to blend in with his group.
But now, everything that had happened was telling me one thing.
I was, from start to finish, a complete joke.
I forced back the tears and screenshotted their comments one by one, then posted them to my social media feed and tagged the people who'd said them.
"When you needed favors from me, you called me ma'am. Now I'm 'that woman.' People who come running when they need you and forget you the rest of the time really are something."
Five, six minutes passed after I posted, and not one of Sebastian's friends dared make a sound.
Instead, it was Sebastian who called me.
I thought that after five years together, he'd at least offer me a few words of comfort.
But the first thing out of his mouth was, "Delete the post, then apologize. We're all going to be seeing each other from now on, don't make things too ugly."
I couldn't help but laugh, because it was too absurd.
And as I laughed, the tears finally broke free and spilled over. "Sebastian, do you even know what you're saying?"
"Bea grew up with all of us. It's normal for them to feel it's unfair and say a thing or two about you. Can you please stop being so sensitive?"
That single word, sensitive, was a blade driven straight into my chest, a dull ache spreading from there into every limb.
My hands shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. "But why should I have to be humiliated by them?"
"If you had a background as good as Bea's, who would have nothing better to do than talk about you? Isn't what they said the truth?"
His words landed like a clap of thunder, my ears ringing, my vision swimming, my scalp gone numb.
At last, he'd said what he really thought.
"If I didn't truly love you, I really should have chosen Bea. At least she carries herself with grace, she wouldn't kick up a fuss over nothing the way you do."
"If you can't get here in ten minutes, Bea will handle the toast round for you. You ought to thank her."
And with that, he hung up.
He'd left me those last words like a scrap of charity.
But I knew the scales in his heart had already begun to tip.
I dug out the ring box, slid the wedding ring off my finger and put it away, then closed my fist tight around the box and lifted my eyes to the road ahead.
The hotel, yes, I was going.
But not to get married. I was going to call off the wedding to his face.
