Time slowed. I gasped. Someone screamed. Frosting splattered across the grass like a crime scene.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” I screamed, rushing toward her.
She stepped back, hands raised. “What?” Lola asked, pretending to be surprised. “It was an accident. The cake was standing unevenly.”
I wanted to shake her and drag her out by that stupid veil. Instead, I stood there, shaking, while staff rushed in to clean up the mess and guests whispered. Chase appeared at my side, his jaw tight. “Oh no. Can someone please help us?” he called to the staff.
I was in shock, but it quickly wore off. I ran to the room where I had gotten dressed and pulled open the drawers with purpose. I knew, deep down, that something like this might happen. I just didn’t know when. So, I had come prepared.
A few minutes later, I went back outside. The guests gathered around me, confused. Lola stood off to the side, her confidence faltering as she saw how determined I was.
“I have to confess, dear guests…” I said into the microphone.
Lola clapped both hands over her mouth, realizing exactly what I was about to do. I pulled out a sealed envelope—our late grandmother’s handwriting was unmistakable on the front.
Finding the truth had taken effort. Weeks earlier, sensing Lola’s obsession with attention had crossed into something darker, I visited our aunt, Sandra. I sat at Sandra’s kitchen table and asked, “Why does Lola always spiral around milestones? Why weddings? Why now?”
Sandra sighed. “Because she believes she’s owed something.”
