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“I’m not wasting the final years of my twenties raising someone else’s kids. A foster family would be much better for you anyway. At least they’ll know how to deal with your… sadness.”
A collective gasp rippled through the audience. I saw Jenna’s mother stand up, her hand over her mouth. In the third row, Mrs. Gable’s pen stopped moving.
The video continued. The ballroom heard Maya’s soft, heart-wrenching sob. They heard Jenna threaten to throw away her journals. Then, the scene shifted. It was the audio from the kitchen—the phone call.
“The house? The insurance money? It should be for us! I just need James to wake up and smell the coffee… and put my name on the deed. And after that, I don’t really care what happens to those girls. I’ll make their lives miserable until he gives in. And then this naïve man will think it was his idea all along.”
The Jenna on the stage was no longer a bride. She looked like a trapped animal. She turned to me, her eyes wide and wild. “James! That’s… that’s a deepfake! That’s AI! You’re trying to humiliate me because you’re stressed! Arthur, tell him!”
She looked at her father, but he wouldn’t look back.
“I didn’t have to use AI, Jenna,” I said, my voice echoing through the silent hall. “I just had to listen. I spent months wondering why my sisters were getting quieter. Why they were hiding in their rooms. Why Maya stopped writing. I thought it was grief. I didn’t realize it was you.”
I played the final clip. It was the one from the night before, where she laughed about how “easy” I was to manipulate.
“I’m not raising someone else’s leftovers, Karen. I deserve so much more than this.”
“Leftovers,” I repeated, turning to face her. “That’s what you called the two girls who lost their mother. That’s what you called my family.”
The room erupted. It wasn’t the sound of a celebration; it was the sound of a collective, righteous fury. My mother’s friends were standing now, shouting. Jenna’s own bridesmaids, women she had known for years, were stepping back from the stage as if she were contagious.
“James, you’re ruining my life!” she screamed, her voice cracking, the “perfect” accent she used in public replaced by a shrill, desperate shriek.
“No,” I said, stepping down from the stage and walking toward my sisters. “You were going to ruin theirs. I’m just making sure you never get the chance.”
I looked at Mrs. Gable. She was already on her feet, her face set in a grim, professional mask. She didn’t need to say anything; the look she gave Jenna told me that the adoption interview was over before it even started.
Security, provided by the venue but briefed by me hours earlier, moved in. They didn’t have to be rough. They simply formed a wall around her.
“Ma’am, it’s time to go,” the lead guard said.
Jenna looked around the room, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for a single person who would stand by her. She found no one. Even the florists and the caterers were staring at her with disgust. She gathered her expensive lace train in her hands and marched toward the exit, her head held high in a final, delusional act of defiance.
As the heavy oak doors closed behind her, the ballroom seemed to exhale. The cloying scent of lilies was still there, but the air felt lighter.
I didn’t look at the crowd. I didn’t look at the screen. I walked straight to Lily and Maya. They were standing by the lavender-covered chairs, their eyes wide. I knelt down so I was at their eye level and opened my arms.
They didn’t hesitate. They crashed into me, their small frames shaking with a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
“Is she gone?” Maya whispered into my shoulder.
“She’s gone,” I said, closing my eyes and holding them tight. “She’s never coming back. And neither is the lie.”
The “wedding” was over. But as I stood up with my sisters’ hands in mine, I realized that the true ceremony was just beginning. We didn’t need a deed, a ballroom, or a thousand lilies. We just needed the truth. And for the first time in six months, the truth was finally enough.
Chapter 6: The Sanctity of the Hearth
The drive home from the Grand Oak Estate was silent, but it was the kind of silence that follows a long-awaited rainfall—the air was heavy, yet finally clear. The city lights flickered past the car windows, blurred by the light mist clinging to the glass. In the rearview mirror, I could see the twins. They weren’t crying anymore. They were simply leaning against each other, their heads resting on one another’s shoulders, watching the world go by with wide, weary eyes. The lavender dresses, once symbols of Jenna’s stifling control, now just looked like ordinary clothes on two tired little girls.