Chapter 3 - Before She Said I Do
People think revenge feels powerful.
Mine felt like nausea.
As I stood at the front of the ballroom chapel watching Lauren prepare to walk down the aisle, I didn’t feel triumphant.
I felt sick.
Nathan stood beside the officiant.
His face changed when the doors opened.
That expression nearly stopped me.
It was pure happiness.
No suspicion.
No reservation.
Just love.
My father offered Lauren his arm.
She took it.
The guests stood.
Somewhere behind me, Ryan shifted in his seat.
I didn’t look at him.
I watched Lauren.
Every step she took toward Nathan increased the weight inside my chest.
Stop her.
Tell him.
Do something.
But I remained still.
Later, I would ask myself whether silence made me complicit.
I still don’t have a simple answer.
Lauren reached Nathan.
Dad kissed her cheek.
Nathan took her hands.
They smiled at each other.
I thought about the video.
Hey, Ryan.
The officiant began.
Marriage.
Trust.
Partnership.
Honesty.
Every word felt sharpened.
When Nathan said his vows, his voice broke slightly.
Lauren cried.
I stared at her.
Were those tears real?
I think they were.
That was what made everything harder.
Human beings can love one person while betraying another.
They can feel shame and continue anyway.
They can promise forever while hiding yesterday.
Lauren’s vows were beautiful.
She talked about Nathan being her calm place.
Her best friend.
The person who never made her wonder where she stood.
I almost laughed at the cruelty of that line.
Instead I looked toward Ryan.
He was watching Lauren.
Not romantically.
Not obviously.
But too intently.
Then his eyes found mine.
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
I wondered whether he finally sensed something.
The rings went on.
The officiant pronounced them husband and wife.
Everyone applauded.
Nathan kissed Lauren.
My mother cried.
My father wiped his eyes.
Ryan clapped beside me.
And I thought:
You are applauding a marriage you helped poison before it even began.
The reception followed an hour later.
The Beaumont ballroom looked transformed.
Warm chandeliers glowed above round tables.
Cream roses spilled from tall arrangements.
Candles flickered beside champagne glasses.
A white wedding cake stood near the far wall beneath a spray of flowers.
And above everything hung the projection screen.
Huge.
Impossible to ignore.
Ryan checked the system before dinner.
I watched from across the room.
Phone in hand.
A few taps.
The screen changed from the couple’s initials to a photograph of Lauren and Nathan laughing beside a lake.
Perfect.
Ryan returned to our table.
“Working?” I asked.
He glanced at me.
“What?”
“The projector.”
“Yeah.”
“From your phone?”
“Yeah.”
He slipped it into his jacket pocket.
My heart began pounding.
During dinner, I barely ate.
Nathan’s brother gave a speech.
My father gave one.
Lauren laughed.
Ryan drank bourbon.
At one point, he leaned toward me.
“You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve been weird all day.”
“Weird how?”
“Quiet.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe I’m emotional.”
He accepted that.
He always accepted explanations that benefited him.
The slideshow started after dessert.
Childhood photos.
Lauren covered her face when a picture appeared of her missing two front teeth.
Guests laughed.
Then came family vacations.
Graduation.
Nathan.
Engagement pictures.
The room softened around memory.
That was when I understood something frightening.
If I went through with it, there would be no undoing it.
Public truth is different from private truth.
Private truth can be negotiated.
Denied.
Reframed.
Public truth belongs to everyone who sees it.
My hand rested beneath the table.
I considered leaving.
I could tell Nathan tomorrow.
I could confront Ryan tonight.
I could spare my parents.
I could spare Lauren.
Then Ryan’s phone buzzed.
He looked down.
His face changed.
Only for a second.
I leaned slightly.
LAUREN.
A message preview.
Thanks for everything. Seriously.
Ryan typed beneath the table.
My stomach turned.
Even now.
During her wedding reception.
They were still communicating privately.
Ryan set his phone beside his drink.
Then one of Nathan’s college friends called him toward the bar.
Ryan stood.
“Be right back.”
He left the phone.
My eyes dropped to it.
The ballroom seemed to move farther away.
Music.
Laughter.
Glassware.
My mother talking beside me.
Lauren smiling from the head table.
Nathan’s arm around her chair.
Ryan’s phone six inches from my hand.
I picked it up.
No one noticed.
The screen unlocked with Face ID only, but Ryan had entered his passcode earlier while fixing the slideshow.
I had watched.
I entered it.
The home screen appeared.
Messages.
Lauren.
My thumb trembled.
The thread opened.
There were fewer messages than before.
Deleted.
Of course.
But the video remained in recently shared media.
I found it.
My pulse roared in my ears.
Onstage, the DJ lowered the music.
“Before we continue,” he said, “our beautiful bride would like to say a few words.”
Lauren rose.
Applause.
Nathan kissed her hand.
She took the microphone.
“Okay, I promised I wouldn’t cry again.”
People laughed.
Ryan returned from the bar.
He reached our table.
His eyes dropped to the empty space beside his drink.
Then to me.
I held his phone beneath the table.
His face drained.
“Megan.”
I stood.
“Sit down.”
“What are you doing?”
“Sit down.”
His eyes flicked toward Lauren.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
Lauren continued speaking.
“I know weddings are supposed to be about two people, but honestly, this room is full of people who got us here.”
Ryan reached toward me.
I stepped back.
“Megan.”
I opened the casting controls.
The reception system appeared.
Connected.
I looked at Ryan.
He knew.
For the first time in months, there was no explanation on his face.
Only fear.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“Please.”
Interesting word.
Please.
Lauren laughed at something she had just said.
Everyone was watching her.
No one was watching us.
Yet.
I opened the video.
Ryan grabbed my wrist lightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to stop me.
“Don’t.”
I stared at his hand.
He released me.
“Whatever you think—”
“I saw it.”
His mouth closed.
“Two weeks ago.”
“Megan, listen.”
“No.”
“Megan—”
Lauren’s voice carried through the microphone.
“And to my sister, who has put up with me for thirty-one years—”
The room laughed again.
Lauren looked directly at me.
“I love you.”
Something inside me broke.
I loved her too.
That was the tragedy.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Ryan whispered, “You’ll destroy everything.”
I looked at him.
“No, Ryan.”
Then I pressed play.
The childhood photograph behind Lauren vanished.
The projector flickered.
Lauren turned toward the screen.
Two hundred guests followed her gaze.
A woman’s face appeared.
Lauren’s face.
Recorded weeks earlier.
Close.
Private.
May you like
Her prerecorded voice filled the ballroom.
“Hey, Ryan…”
