Chapter 3
I read the letter three times.
Each time, my chest tightened a little more.
My mother had written about kindness.
About dignity.
About the danger of confusing expensive things with valuable people.
She described the afternoon Vanessa came to our home crying because her family was about to lose everything.
Mom had given her money without asking for recognition.
She never told the neighbors.
She never asked for photographs.
She never demanded public thanks.
She simply helped.
Then she wrote something that broke my heart.
I hope Marcus grows into a man who sees people clearly, even when he loves them deeply.
I lowered the letter.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Nia was standing across from me.
Her beautiful wedding gown flowed around her feet.
Her eyes were wet.
But I couldn't tell whether she was crying because she felt sorry or because everyone had discovered something she wanted hidden.
Finally, she whispered, "Marcus, please."
I looked at her.
"Did you know?"
She hesitated.
My stomach tightened.
"Nia."
Her voice broke.
"I knew my parents had financial problems when I was little."
"Did you know my mother helped them?"
She looked toward Vanessa.
Then slowly nodded.
I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath me.
"You knew?"
She began crying.
"Not everything."
I shook my head.
"Then why did you treat Dad like that?"
She had no answer.
Vanessa stepped forward.
"Marcus, you're making this bigger than it needs to be."
I turned toward her.
"Bigger?"
She lifted her chin.
"Families help each other. Your mother was generous. We appreciated it."
Dad looked at her.
"Then why did your daughter call my wedding gift cheap junk?"
Vanessa's face tightened.
"Nia was upset."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
Then he looked at Nia.
"Upset that a poor-looking man approached her."
The words hung in the air.
Nia covered her face.
I wanted to comfort her.
I hated that I still wanted to comfort her.
For almost three years, she had been my closest friend.
We met at a fundraising event.
She was confident.
Beautiful.
Funny.
She made me feel like I could conquer the world.
When my construction business struggled, she encouraged me.
When Dad needed surgery, she brought groceries.
When I proposed, she cried and said she couldn't imagine life without me.
I had loved her completely.
But now I was wondering how much of that love depended on what I could provide.
Dad sat down.
His hands were shaking.
I noticed the small cut on his finger from the broken jewelry box.
My stomach twisted.
"Dad, you're bleeding."
He looked surprised.
"It's nothing."
I grabbed a clean napkin.
Then gently wrapped it around his finger.
He smiled sadly.
"Still taking care of your old man?"
My eyes filled.
"Always."
Across the room, Nia began crying harder.
"Marcus, can we please talk alone?"
I looked toward Dad.
He nodded.
"Go ahead, son."
But before I moved, Aunt Renee spoke.
"Arthur, tell him about the wooden box."
Dad looked at her.
His expression changed.
"Renee."
She stepped forward.
"He deserves to know."
I frowned.
"What about it?"
Dad looked down.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he touched one of the broken wooden pieces.
"Your mother helped me make it."
My throat tightened.
"What?"
He smiled sadly.
"She drew the design."
I stared at the broken lid.
Tiny flowers had been carved into the wood.
The same flowers engraved on her ring.
I hadn't noticed.
Dad continued.
"She wanted me to build a box for the ring."
His eyes filled.
"She said if we ever had a son who married, we should give it to his bride."
I looked at the broken pieces.
My chest hurt.
Dad swallowed.
"I started making it years ago."
He touched the cracked edge.
"But after she died, I couldn't finish."
I stared at him.
He smiled through tears.
"Then you got engaged."
My eyes filled.
"And I thought it was finally time."
I couldn't speak.
The box hadn't been cheap junk.
It had been the last gift my mother and father created together.
And Nia had smashed it in front of hundreds of guests.
I turned toward her.
Her face was pale.
"Do you understand now?"
She began sobbing.
"Marcus, I'm sorry."
I wanted to believe her.
But something still felt wrong.
Then my aunt spoke again.
"There's another reason Arthur wanted to speak privately."
I looked at her.
"What?"
Renee hesitated.
Dad raised his hand.
"Not yet."
I stared at him.
"Dad, please."
He looked exhausted.
Then he slowly reached into his jacket pocket again.
This time, he removed a folded photograph.
He handed it to me.
I unfolded it.
The picture showed my mother standing outside a small building.
Beside her stood Vanessa.
They were smiling.
Behind them was a sign.
EVELYN'S BRIDAL DESIGNS.
I frowned.
"Mom had a bridal shop?"
Dad nodded.
"For a little while."
I stared at the photograph.
The name sounded familiar.
Then I remembered something.
Nia had recently launched a bridal fashion company.
She called it V&E Bridal.
I looked toward Vanessa.
Her face had gone completely pale.
"Dad, what is this?"
He took a slow breath.
"Your mother helped design the collection that built Vanessa's first fashion business."
I looked toward Nia.
She wasn't crying anymore.
She was staring at the photograph.
May you like
Then Dad added something that made the room go silent.
"And according to the records your mother kept, Vanessa never paid her for those designs."
