It was a transaction.
And they assumed I was the bank.
I sat through the last minutes of guests settling, through the soft rustle of coats and programs, through murmured greetings. My smile stayed in place because my body knew how to perform. Inside, my thoughts moved fast and clear.
Michael wasn’t the only one with plans.
I needed to know Sabrina’s.
When the sanctuary grew busier, I stood again and slipped down the corridor toward the bridal prep room. The door was slightly ajar. Pop music pulsed from inside, bright and bouncy, a soundtrack for joy that made my stomach turn.
I paused by the crack, only intending to confirm a feeling.
Sabrina’s voice hit my ears with sharp certainty.
“In a few hours,” she said, laughing, “I’ll have the fortune in my hands. Twenty-two million. And by law, I get half. Michael’s so naive.”
Laughter erupted.
My blood went cold.
Someone inside said something I couldn’t quite catch, and Sabrina answered, breezy and cruel. “I’m filing for divorce. I already talked to an attorney. I’m not staying with him forever. This is just… a step.”
Another voice, giggling: “And his mother? She acts like she owns everything.”
Sabrina’s tone shifted, colder, edged with disdain. “Once the money’s in, I’ll push Michael to put her in a high-end nursing home. Park her there. Let staff deal with her. She’ll be out of the way, and the company will finally feel clean.”
The laughter that followed was high and sharp, like glass clinking too hard.
My fingers dug into the edge of the doorframe. For one moment, I thought I might burst in and slap her, the way my own mother might have done, the way a woman without decades of discipline might have done.
But I didn’t.
I eased my purse forward slightly, letting the recorder capture every word, every laugh.
Then I stepped away, silently, letting the hall swallow me again.
When I returned to the sanctuary, everything looked the same. Flowers. Candles. Guests.
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