On our wedding day, Catherine looked absolutely radiant, smiling at me as if the world were a perfectly good and kind place.
Her parents, her siblings, and my closest colleagues from work cheered and applauded when we finally said our vows to one another.
I tried my hardest to focus entirely on her, on the gentle trembling of her hand in mine, and on her loving, unwavering gaze.
However, every time my eyes drifted to those empty wooden chairs, I felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing my chest until I couldn’t breathe.
Later that evening, while we were cutting our wedding cake, my cell phone suddenly lit up with a barrage of notifications.
My mother sent a message that read, “We need to talk to you right now.”
Then came a phone call, followed by another one, and then another one, until the screen was vibrating incessantly.
In less than one hour, I had fifty-two missed calls from various family members.
I walked out into the quiet garden with my suit slightly wrinkled and my heart feeling completely shattered by their sheer audacity.
Then, a sudden text message arrived from my cousin, Sarah, who had stayed home.
“You will not believe what they are saying about you at Isabelle’s party, so call me, but please do not tell anyone it was me who told you,” she wrote.
I called her back with cold, shaking hands.
Sarah answered in a hushed whisper, “Holden, your mother is telling everyone that you intentionally scheduled your wedding on this day to try to overshadow Isabelle.”
I felt the air leave my lungs in a painful rush.
“Are you serious, she actually said that?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“Your father is sitting right there supporting her version of events, and Thomas is telling everyone that you never even wanted him to be your best man in the first place,” she continued.
I felt a wave of intense nausea wash over me as I stood in the dark garden.
My own family had not only skipped my wedding, but they were actively defaming my character in front of everyone I knew.
And yet, with all the nerve in the world, they were still calling me and demanding that I help them.
Sarah swallowed hard before she whispered the final, most infuriating part of the update.
“Isabelle’s catering company just canceled on her at the last minute, and your mother wants you to call one of your professional contacts to save their party,” she said.
I looked back toward the reception tent, where Catherine was standing and looking for me with a confused expression on her face.
For the first time in my life, I understood something truly terrible about the people who raised me.
To them, I was never actually a son to be loved; I was just a tool they could use whenever Isabelle needed someone to fix a problem.
I could not even begin to imagine what other secrets would be discovered later on.
