“Accept it, or lose me.”
So I swallowed every ounce of rage and terror and lied through my teeth.
“I support you.”
One year later I stood in a venue draped in eucalyptus and fairy lights, watching Jade glide down the aisle toward Scott, smiling for photos, raising a champagne flute, because that’s what mothers do.
My insides were in knots the entire night.
Then Drew found me at the reception.
My son has always been the steady one. Twenty-two, already running his own little tech company, still calls his grandparents every Sunday. When he grabbed my arm and said, “Mom, we need to talk. Now,” I followed without question.
He led me to the parking lot, far enough that the music faded.
He pulled out his phone, opened a folder, and looked me dead in the eye.
“I hired a private investigator. I’ve been watching Scott for months. He’s not who he says he is.”
