That was when I heard his voice.

For a moment, I thought I must have misunderstood. My hand froze on the box I had come to retrieve. I waited—waited for someone to correct him, to say he’d gone too far, to remind him that the woman he was mocking was the one he would be marrying in less than twelve hours.

But instead, one of his groomsmen laughed even harder and asked, “Then why are you marrying her?”

Ethan didn’t hesitate. “Her dad’s covering half a condo down payment, and Carol’s too blind to see what’s right in front of her. I can pretend to be a husband for a year.”

Carol. My daughter. My kind, devoted, trusting daughter, who had spent the past six months defending Ethan to anyone who questioned him. My daughter, who had cried in my kitchen because she thought she wasn’t attractive enough for him. My daughter, who had started skipping dessert, buying shapewear, and apologizing for simply existing.

And there he was, turning her deepest insecurity into the joke of the night.

I should have stormed in. I should have slapped him, screamed, called my husband, called Carol, called everyone.

But I didn’t.

I stood there in the cold hallway, listening until I felt numb. Then I quietly picked up the place cards, turned around, and went back to my room.

When I opened the door, my daughter looked up from the bed, still wrapped in her silk robe, smiling as she held her phone. “Mom, do you think tomorrow will be the best day of my life?”

I looked at her glowing face, and for the first time in my life, I had to decide whether to shatter her heart that night… or let her walk straight into heartbreak the next morning.

I didn’t sleep.

Carol drifted off around midnight with wedding magazines scattered beside her, her face peaceful in a way that made my chest ache. I sat by the window, staring out at the city lights, replaying Ethan’s words again and again until they stopped sounding like language and became nothing but noise pounding in my head.