Chapter 5
By the following morning, the video had spread across social media.
I woke in my childhood bedroom at my father's house.
I hadn't slept there in almost ten years.
The room still contained the old bookshelf I built in high school.
A faded basketball poster hung above the desk.
For a moment, I forgot what had happened.
Then I reached for my phone.
There were more than two hundred unread messages.
Some were from friends.
Others were from strangers.
Several news pages had reposted the wedding video.
The comments ranged from sympathy to outrage.
People praised me for defending my father.
Others accused Nia of being cruel.
A few insisted that I had overreacted.
I didn't know what to feel.
I hadn't wanted our private pain turned into entertainment.
I had wanted my father to be treated with dignity.
That was all.
I put the phone down.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Marcus?"
It was my father.
"Come in, Dad."
He entered in his wheelchair carrying a tray.
On it were scrambled eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee.
I immediately stood.
"Dad, you didn't have to do that."
He smiled.
"I've been making your breakfast since you were a boy."
I took the tray.
"You need to let me take care of you sometimes."
He laughed softly.
"You already do."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
He positioned his chair beside me.
For a few minutes, we ate in silence.
Then he asked, "How are you holding up?"
I looked at him.
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"That's honest."
I stared at the coffee.
"I thought I knew her."
He waited.
"I spent four years loving someone I thought would be my partner."
My voice broke.
"And yesterday, she looked at you like you were something she needed to hide."
My father reached for my hand.
"Son, her behavior was not your fault."
I swallowed.
"I should have noticed earlier."
He shook his head.
"Love can make us hopeful."
I looked at him.
"Did you ever suspect she felt that way about you?"
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than I wanted to know.
"Dad."
He sighed.
"She made a few comments."
My stomach tightened.
"What comments?"
He looked down.
"Little things. About accessibility. About where I should sit at family dinners."
I stared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to interfere."
I felt tears rise.
"Dad, you should have told me."
He nodded.
"Perhaps."
Then he squeezed my hand.
"But I also wanted you to make your own decisions."
I leaned forward and hugged him.
"I'm sorry."
He held me.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
But I did feel sorry.
Sorry that he had carried his hurt silently.
Sorry that I had ignored warning signs.
Sorry that he had worried about becoming a burden when he had spent his entire life lifting others up.
That afternoon, Daniel visited.
He brought documents from the hotel and a list of outstanding wedding expenses.
I sat with him at the dining table.
"The venue and catering package were already paid," he explained.
I nodded.
"The remaining vendors have different cancellation terms."
We spent nearly two hours reviewing everything.
Some deposits were nonrefundable.
Others could be partially recovered.
The photographer agreed to return the unused portion of his fee.
The florist offered to donate the flowers to local hospitals and retirement homes.
I approved the donation.
At least something beautiful could come from the day.
Then Daniel handed me another document.
"There's a problem."
I looked up.
"What kind?"
"Nia signed an agreement with a luxury wedding magazine."
I frowned.
"What agreement?"
"Exclusive photographs and a feature about the ceremony."
I stared at him.
"She never told me."
Daniel nodded.
"Apparently, she expected the wedding to help launch an event-planning business."
My stomach tightened.
Nia had mentioned wanting to work in luxury events.
I had encouraged her.
I had even offered to help develop a business plan.
But she had never told me she was negotiating publicity around our wedding.
I read the document.
The agreement described our ceremony as an exclusive high-profile event.
It referred to the hotel as a family-owned luxury property.
I stopped reading.
"Family-owned?"
Daniel nodded.
"She knew?"
He shook his head.
"I don't think she knew your father owned the property. But she was advertising the wedding as connected to your family's business interests."
I leaned back.
So much of what I thought I understood was beginning to unravel.
I remembered Nia asking detailed questions about my father's investments.
I remembered her interest in the hotel.
I remembered how often she mentioned wanting to be introduced to wealthy clients.
At the time, I thought she was simply ambitious.
Now I wondered whether I had mistaken ambition for something else.
I called Nia.
She answered immediately.
"Marcus?"
Her voice sounded exhausted.
"We need to talk."
She began crying.
"I know. Please, I need to see you."
"Did you sign an agreement with a wedding magazine?"
Silence.
Then she whispered, "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
I closed my eyes.
"What kind of surprise?"
"A chance to promote my event-planning business."
I looked at Daniel.
He watched me silently.
"Nia, did you plan to use our wedding to advertise your business without asking me?"
She hesitated.
"I thought you'd be proud."
I felt my chest tighten.
"You keep making decisions that affect other people without asking them."
She began crying harder.
"I know."
I took a breath.
"That's the problem."
She whispered, "Can we meet?"
I looked toward the living room.
My father was reading beside the window.
I thought about the man who had nearly been pushed out of his son's wedding photographs.
Then I answered.
"Yes. But we need to talk honestly."
Nia exhaled shakily.
"Thank you."
I ended the call.
Daniel looked at me.
"Are you thinking about taking her back?"
I stared at the phone.
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"Just remember why you walked away."
May you like
I looked toward my father again.
Then I whispered, "I will."
