Chapter 3
I didn't sleep.
Nathan didn't either.
We sat on the hotel bed at two in the morning while Richard forwarded email after email.
At first, I thought maybe Isabella had been trying to surprise us.
Then I read the first message.
Please change the bridal bouquet from white roses to blush peonies. The bride doesn't understand how washed out white will make her look.
Another email.
Move the groom's family table closer to the head table. Her parents don't need to be that central.
Then:
I would prefer the mother-son dance take place before the bride dances with her mother. Nathan and I have a more traditional relationship.
My hands started shaking.
“She tried to rearrange our reception.”
Nathan looked sick.
“She told me she was only helping with payments.”
I opened another message.
This one was sent to our bakery.
Please make sure the groom's mother's name is mentioned on the display card. I contributed financially and don't want the bride's family taking all the credit.
I stared at the screen.
“This isn't normal.”
“No.”
Nathan's voice was flat.
“It isn't.”
Then came the worst one.
An email to our venue coordinator.
The bride's mother may not be healthy enough to stay through the entire reception. If she leaves early, please remove her chair from the family table so the photographs don't look awkward.
I stopped breathing.
Nathan read over my shoulder.
His entire face changed.
My mother.
She had been undergoing chemotherapy for months.
She had spent the entire week conserving energy so she could stay through the reception.
And Isabella had planned for her absence like it was a decoration problem.
I started crying.
Nathan slammed the laptop shut.
“I'm done.”
I wiped my face.
“With what?”
“With pretending this is only jealousy.”
He stood.
“This is control.”
I looked at him.
He paced the room.
“She tried to control the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“She tried to control who mattered.”
“Yes.”
“She deliberately destroyed your dress.”
I nodded.
Nathan stopped.
“And then called herself the victim.”
That part hurt him.
I could see it.
He had spent his entire life thinking his mother's intensity was love.
I understood because I had seen it from the outside.
Isabella called three times before sunrise.
Nathan rejected every call.
Then she texted.
I know you're angry, but publicly humiliating me was cruel. We need to discuss boundaries.
Nathan actually laughed.
“Boundaries.”
I stared at the message.
She used that word as if she had invented it.
Another text came.
Your wife has been turning you against me for months.
I took the phone from Nathan.
“Don't answer.”
“I wasn't going to.”
At seven, Richard called.
“I need to see you both.”
Nathan looked at me.
“Do you want to go?”
I thought about Mom.
My dress.
The emails.
“Yes.”
We met Richard at a coffee shop away from the hotel.
He looked like he had aged overnight.
“I owe you both an apology.”
Nathan frowned.
“You didn't tear her dress.”
“No.”
Richard rubbed his face.
“But I enabled your mother for thirty-four years.”
Nathan went quiet.
Richard looked at me.
“Every time she got upset, I told everyone else to keep the peace.”
That phrase made my stomach twist.
Keep the peace.
It usually meant someone quieter had to suffer.
“I thought it was easier,” Richard said.
“Easier for who?” Nathan asked.
Richard nodded slowly.
“Exactly.”
He placed a folder on the table.
Inside were printed bank records.
“I went through everything.”
Nathan flipped through them.
“How bad?”
“Worse than I thought.”
Richard pointed to several transactions.
“These are wedding payments.”
“Okay.”
“These aren't.”
Nathan looked up.
“What are they?”
“Your mother withdrew money from our retirement account.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“I don't know yet.”
“How much?”
Richard looked embarrassed.
“Seventy-two thousand dollars.”
Nathan froze.
“What?”
“I didn't notice because she handled most of the household finances.”
“Seventy-two thousand?”
Richard nodded.
“And that's over the last two years.”
I stared at him.
“Could it be wedding expenses?”
“No.”
He pushed another document forward.
“Your wedding expenses she covered totaled seventeen thousand.”
Nathan blinked.
“She told me it was almost forty.”
“I know.”
The room went silent.
Richard continued.
“She exaggerated what she paid.”
I almost laughed.
Of course she had.
Every bouquet became proof of sacrifice.
Every check became emotional leverage.
Nathan looked furious.
“Where did the rest go?”
“I found payments to someone named Daniel Cole.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Nathan frowned.
“Who is that?”
“I don't know.”
“There are eighteen transfers.”
Richard nodded.
“And cash withdrawals around the same dates.”
Nathan looked at me.
“This isn't about the wedding anymore.”
No.
It wasn't.
Richard took a breath.
“There's something else.”
I almost didn't want to hear it.
He reached into the folder and pulled out a printed email.
“I found this in her sent folder.”
Nathan read first.
His face went pale.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
The email was addressed to a private investigator.
The date was eight months before our wedding.
Subject:
Background Investigation — Rachel Anne Parker.
My maiden name.
I looked up.
“She investigated me?”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
The email included my home address.
My parents' names.
My work history.
Even my mother's diagnosis.
I felt violated.
Nathan looked furious.
“Why?”
Richard shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Nathan stood abruptly.
“I do.”
He grabbed his phone.
I caught his arm.
“Don't call her.”
He looked at me.
“She investigated you.”
“I know.”
“She looked into your mother.”
“I know.”
“I need answers.”
“And she'll lie.”
That stopped him.
Richard nodded.
“Rachel's right.”
My name coming from him softened something.
“We need facts first.”
Nathan sat again.
I looked at the private investigator's name.
“Can we contact him?”
Richard hesitated.
“Possibly.”
Nathan stared at the email.
Then another thought hit me.
“What if she found something?”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“She paid an investigator.”
I pointed at the message.
“People don't usually spend money just to satisfy curiosity.”
Richard's face changed.
“You think the seventy-two thousand—”
“I don't know.”
My stomach tightened.
“But what if Daniel Cole is connected?”
Nathan opened his laptop.
We searched the name.
Too many results.
No obvious connection.
Then Richard remembered something.
“Wait.”
He took out his phone.
“Your mother has a storage cabinet in the study.”
Nathan frowned.
“The locked one?”
“Yes.”
“She says it's family documents.”
Richard looked ashamed.
“I've never opened it.”
Nathan stared at him.
“You've been married thirty-four years and you've never opened a cabinet in your own house?”
Richard's jaw tightened.
“I told you.”
He looked down.
“I stopped asking questions because it caused fights.”
There it was again.
Avoiding conflict had protected Isabella.
At noon, Richard returned home.
Isabella wasn't there.
She had gone to her sister's house.
Nathan and I followed.
The study smelled like old books.
The cabinet stood behind the desk.
Richard tried several keys.
None worked.
Nathan crouched.
“Don't break it.”
Richard looked at him.
“Why not?”
Nathan almost smiled.
“Because if there's something important inside, I'd rather not explain broken furniture to an attorney.”
That word changed the room.
Attorney.
We all understood.
This might be bigger than family drama.
Richard called a locksmith.
Twenty minutes later, the cabinet opened.
Inside were folders.
Dozens.
Bills.
Insurance documents.
Old tax records.
Then I saw one with my name.
Rachel Parker.
My blood ran cold.
Nathan pulled it out.
Inside were printed photographs of me leaving work.
Photographs of my apartment.
Photographs of my parents' house.
Pages from public records.
And a handwritten note.
Potential concerns:
Mother medically dependent.
Father's business unstable.
Bride may expect Nathan to provide financial support to her family.
I felt sick.
“She thought I was marrying you for money.”
Nathan stared at the page.
His voice shook.
“My mother thought your dying mother was a financial threat.”
Richard lowered himself into a chair.
Then Nathan found another folder.
His own name.
Inside were copies of his bank statements.
His investment accounts.
His employment contract.
Nathan looked confused.
“How did she get these?”
Richard went pale.
“She shouldn't have them.”
Then I saw another name.
Daniel Cole.
Nathan pulled that folder free.
We opened it together.
Inside was a photograph.
A man in his late thirties stood beside Isabella outside a restaurant.
His hand rested on her waist.
On the back, someone had written a date.
Two years earlier.
Richard stared at the picture.
His face emptied.
“No.”
Nathan looked at him.
“Dad.”
Richard picked up another photograph.
Isabella kissing the man.
The seventy-two thousand dollars suddenly had an explanation.
Richard's hands started trembling.
“My wife is having an affair.”
No one spoke.
Then his phone rang.
Isabella.
Richard stared at the screen.
Nathan said nothing.
Neither did I.
Richard answered.
“Hello.”
Her voice came through faintly.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
A pause.
Then:
“Are Nathan and Rachel there?”
Richard looked at us.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“What are you doing in the study?”
Richard's face hardened.
“How do you know we're in the study?”
No answer.
His eyes moved toward the ceiling.
Then I saw it.
A tiny black camera above the bookshelf.
Pointed directly at us.
Richard slowly looked back at the phone.
May you like
Isabella whispered:
“Don't touch anything.”
