Chapter 4 of When My Husband Chose My Cousin Over Our Family

The dining room filled like a theater before curtain call.

Three long tables pushed together. Forty chairs. White linens. Silver that caught the light from the chandelier overhead. My mother's caterer moved between the seats with platters of salmon and roasted vegetables and some kind of grain thing that always looked better than it tasted.

I sat midway down the center table. Noah beside me in his booster seat. Chase to my left.

Across the table and three seats down, Layne sat next to Aunt Diane. Emerald green silk. One hand resting on her stomach. The other holding a glass of sparkling water.

The room was loud. Voices layered over voices. Laughter. The scrape of forks on plates. Uncle Rob telling the same story about his boat. Aunt Karen asking someone about their vacation. My father at the head of the table, smiling that smile he does when he's proud of something he organized.

I passed the salt when someone asked. Refilled Noah's water. Cut his salmon into small pieces. Smiled when my cousin made a joke I didn't hear.

I was the stillest person in the room.

My phone was in my lap. Screen dark. Purse at my feet. Everything exactly where I needed it.

I ate a piece of bread. It tasted like nothing.

Chase leaned over. "You're quiet."

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He squeezed my knee under the table. I didn't move.

Across the table, Layne laughed at something Aunt Diane whispered. Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked happy.

I took a sip of water.

I waited.

---

The sound came midway through the main course.

A dessert spoon tapping crystal. Light. Rhythmic. Insistent.

The room quieted in waves. Conversations dropped off. Heads turned.

Aunt Diane stood. She was wearing cream. Silk blouse. Pearls. Her hair was perfect. Her smile was wide.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she said. Her voice carried. Warm. Practiced. The voice of a woman who had been waiting for this moment. "But I simply couldn't let this meal go by without sharing some wonderful news with the family."

Murmurs. Smiles. Someone set down their fork.

Diane's hand rested on Layne's shoulder. "As many of you know, my beautiful daughter has been seeing someone very special. A brilliant man in finance who absolutely adores her. And—" she paused, let the moment stretch, "—they're expecting a baby."

Gasps. Applause. Someone said "Congratulations!" too loud.

Layne ducked her head. Modest. Practiced. Her hand drifted to her stomach again.

"They're planning a spring wedding," Diane continued. "Something intimate. Elegant. Everything Layne deserves." She raised her champagne glass. "To my daughter. To new beginnings. To love."

Glasses lifted. Voices echoed the toast. "To Layne."

Chase reached for his own glass. His hand shook. Just a little. Just enough.

At the far end of the table, my mother went very still. Her eyes found mine across the room. She didn't blink.

I set down my fork.

The sound was quiet. But it carried.

I picked up my phone.

"Actually," I said.

My voice was calm. Level. Clear.

The room turned.

"I'd like to play something for everyone." I stood. Smoothed my dress. Looked at Diane. Looked at Layne. Looked at Chase. "I think the family should hear this."

Chase's eyes moved to my phone. His face drained.

"Felicity—" he started.

I opened my Bluetooth settings. Tapped the speaker. The soft chime of connection filled the silence.

Forty people stared.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

I opened the audio file.

I looked at Layne. Her face was pale. Her mouth was open.

I looked at Aunt Diane. Her glass was still raised. Frozen mid-toast.

I looked at Chase. His hand was white around the stem of his champagne flute.

I looked at my mother. She closed her eyes. Just for a second. Then opened them again.

I looked at Noah. He was building a tower out of dinner rolls. Oblivious. Safe.