Instead, it was a groom and his mother, arm-in-arm, crafted to look just like Ethan and Patricia. Every detail was there—his tie, her pearls.
The room went silent.
Patricia’s face turned crimson. “What… what is this?” she stammered.
“Julia, this is inappropriate,” she hissed, her voice shaking.
“Inappropriate?” I echoed, feigning surprise.
“Oh, Patricia, don’t be so sensitive. Isn’t that what you said to me earlier?”
Her face fell as I set the knife gently into her hands.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Everyone’s watching.”
And then, I walked away.
We popped champagne in the limo and toasted to freedom.
Some people might say I was petty, but I have no regrets. It wasn’t about plan.
It was about reclaiming my day—and my life.
