About a week after Bethany officially left her apartment, things went quiet. No more angry texts, no surprise visits. For the first time in a long time, it felt like the storm had passed.
Then my mom called. No “Hi,” no “How are you?” Just:
“You’ll be at your father’s birthday next Saturday, right?”
Like nothing had happened. Like my wedding hadn’t been sabotaged. Like my sister hadn’t caused the scene that people were still talking about. I said I wasn’t sure. She paused, then said:
“Bethany will be there. I want you two to talk like adults. And I want you to stop being so cold.”
That part hit weird. I was the cold one. Not the one who trashed a wedding cake and screamed in front of a crowd. Not the one who’d been living off me for the past 3 years, but the one who finally said enough. That’s who they were mad at. I hung up without agreeing to anything. That night, Emily and I made dinner and didn’t even bring it up until we were halfway through eating. She said we shouldn’t go. I agreed.