The DJ, Arlo, cleared his throat and made an announcement that smelled a waste through the room, and then there was complete silence.
“Before the first dance continues,” he said carefully, “there’s a special request from the groom’s ex-wife.”
Every eye turned to the bride and groom, and then straight to me.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
Because for the first time since my divorce, I wasn’t the one about being embarrassed.
A ripple of confusion moved across the ballroom.
Then the massive screen behind the dance floor flickered to life.
The first image appeared.
A screenshot of a text message from Thatcher.
“I’m barely getting by. I can’t afford full child support right now.”
The date glowed clearly at the top, showing that the message was sent months before the wedding.
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