“Yes.”
“Then cool off.”
“I don’t need to cool off to know I’m not marrying someone who can punch her own sister and then demand the victim apologize.”
Vanessa looked at Dad as if she expected him to fix it.
Dad tried.
“Emily will come back,” he said.
“She’ll explain.
She knows how Vanessa gets when she’s stressed.
We’ll all apologize and put this behind us.”
My chest went cold.
Even then, his solution was me.
Bring Emily back.
Have Emily smooth it over.
Make Emily accept enough blame that Vanessa never had to face all of hers.
Mason shook his head.
“Did you hear yourself?”
Dad’s voice hardened.
“Be careful.”
“You just watched your daughter get hit, and your first instinct is still to make her protect the person who hit her.”
Someone behind the camera whispered, “Wow.”
Dad heard it.
He looked around at the phones and finally seemed to understand the size of the disaster—not because I had been hurt, but because people had witnessed how he responded.
“Everyone needs to stop recording,” he said.
Nobody moved.
The video ended less than a minute later when the person filming lowered the phone.
I sat alone in my hotel room with an ice pack against my cheek and realized something strange.
For once, I had left before cleaning up their mess.
And without me there, the mess had stayed exactly where they made it.
My phone rang again.
Vanessa.
I declined it.
She called immediately again.
Then a message arrived.
“You need to fix this.”
I stared at those five words.
No apology.
No concern.
Just another order.
I typed, “I didn’t cancel your wedding.”
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
“He wouldn’t have done this if you hadn’t made a scene.”
I looked at my reflection in the dark hotel window, at the swelling along my cheekbone.
Then I wrote, “You punched me.”
Her answer came seconds later.
“Because you pushed me too far.”
I took a screenshot.
That was the first time all night I smiled.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Because I finally understood that I didn’t need to persuade anyone who was determined to rewrite reality.
I only needed to stop participating in the rewrite.
Mason called again.
This time, I answered.
“Emily?”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
