MY MAID OF HONOR BRAZENLY CLAIMED MY GROOM GOT HER PREGNANT—THEN HIS MOTHER ASKED WHO PAID FOR ROOM 614

"It proves the man in the video wasn't Reed," Linnea said. "That is what we're addressing first."

Avery folded her arms.

"The jacket was his."

"You were standing beside the person wearing it," I answered.

Grant interrupted.

"It was stupid. We were messing around with a video, and she used it because she was upset."

"Used it to say my fiancé got her pregnant?"

"People panic."

"You prepared cancellation paperwork before she spoke."

He looked toward Wendy, who stood near the door with a folder against her chest.

"She misunderstood my email."

Wendy opened the folder.

"I printed it."

Marjorie asked Avery whether she was still claiming Reed was the father. Avery looked at Grant before answering.

"I'd like to talk privately."

"You chose ninety-three witnesses last night," I said. "Today, we can start with an accurate statement."

Linnea suggested that neither of them make further statements until they had advice of their own. She wasn't defending their conduct; she was keeping the situation from dissolving into more unreliable words.

Grant left first. Avery remained a moment longer.

"You don't know what he's like when he doesn't get what he wants," she whispered.

For eleven years, I would have stepped closer at that sentence.

This time, I asked, "Which brother are you talking about?"

She walked away without answering.

Later that afternoon, Wendy brought Marjorie the vendor file Linnea had requested. Grant had repeatedly described the company in it as a trusted maintenance contractor.

The supplier's name was Northline Facilities.

I turned the page to its signed tax form. The business name meant nothing to me, but the signature beneath it did.

I had seen those same looping letters on every birthday card Avery had sent me for eleven years.

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MY MAID OF HONOR BRAZENLY CLAIMED MY GROOM GOT HER PREGNANT—THEN HIS MOTHER ASKED WHO PAID FOR ROOM 614 - Part 5–6
PART 5 — THE WOMAN WHO KNEW WHERE TO HURT ME

I remembered Avery signing the card that came with flowers after my mother's funeral.

You still have family. You have me.

For years, I had kept that card in a drawer beside my mother's recipes.

Now her signature sat beneath a business document connected to the man who had prepared to cancel my wedding before my friend announced why.

I wanted to know everything immediately. Linnea reminded me that urgency did not make an incomplete picture complete.