I froze. My hands gripped the tablecloth so tightly I thought it would rip. Michael, seated three tables away, looked down at his drink, avoiding my gaze.
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear.
But at that moment the chair next to me creaked loudly on the parquet floor.
Tyler stood up.
Chapter 2: The Boy Who Cried
The laughter died down, replaced by an embarrassed silence. Tyler wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the stage. He straightened his jacket, took a deep breath, and moved on.
He was short, barely reaching the waist of the adults he passed, but he walked with the stride of a giant. He walked straight up the steps to the stage.
Beverly looked at him, irritated. “Tyler, honey, this isn’t fun.”
Tyler reached up and lowered the microphone stand to his level. Feedback whined for a split second, cutting through the tension.
“Please stop making fun of my mom,” he said.
His voice was clear. It didn’t tremble. It echoed off the vaulted ceiling, hanging in the air like a commandment.
There was a deathly silence in the room.
“My mom works hard every day,” Tyler continued, clutching the microphone stand. “She wakes up at 5:00 a.m. to make me lunch. She helps me with math even when her feet hurt so bad she has to soak them in ice water. She smiles at rude people at the bar so I can get new shoes.”
I felt tears welling up in my eyes—hot and stinging.
“She never complains,” he said, now looking directly at Michael. “Even when people treat her like trash. Even when her own family throws her out.”
He turned to Beverly. « No one has the right to treat her like that. Not even you. »
Beverly’s face reddened. She stepped forward and placed her hand on his shoulder, digging her nails into it.
“Okay, that’s enough,” she hissed, drawing laughter from the crowd. “Who wants ice cream? Tyler, let’s go get some chocolate ice cream. Two scoops!”
Tyler shrugged.
“I don’t want ice cream,” he said, loud enough for the back row to hear. “I want people to know the truth.”
Beverly froze. Caroline, seated at the head table, suddenly paled. She exchanged terrified glances with Michael.
“Really?” Beverly laughed nervously. “Kids say the weirdest things! Let’s go listen to some music…”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Tyler interrupted, his voice gaining strength. “I promised Mom I’d be polite. But after what you did to her… I think James needs to know.”
James, the groom, frowned. He leaned forward. “You know what, son?”
“Don’t listen to him, James!” Caroline shouted, standing up. “He’s upset! He’s a child!”
“I heard you,” Tyler said, looking at his aunt.
He reached into his pocket. My heart was pounding. He pulled out his phone. It was an old smartphone Michael had given him for gaming—a cracked, outdated model.
“Three days ago,” Tyler said into the microphone, “I was at your place, Aunt Caroline. Mom forgot to mail a letter, so I left it. The door was open. I heard you talking to Dad.”
Michael stood up, knocking his chair over. “Tyler! Put that down!”
Tyler ignored him. He tapped the screen and held the phone up to the microphone.
For a second, there was only static. Then voices filled the Grand Harbor View Hotel.
Chapter 3: Digital Witness
« Mike, I want to see Jenny’s stupid face at the wedding. I’ll write « Single Mom Waitress » on her card. It’ll be hilarious. Mom’s totally on board. »
The voice was unmistakably Caroline’s—it was shrill and angry.
The crowd held its breath. The collective gasp sucked all the oxygen from the room.
Then Michael’s voice came over the speakers.
« Just be careful, Care. If James finds out… if he finds out about us… it’s over. »
« He won’t, » Caroline laughed on the recording. « He has no idea. We’ll be married before the baby is born. I got the dates wrong. He’ll think it’s his. He’ll never know it’s yours, Michael. »
Silence. Absolute, terrifying silence.
And then chaos.
The woman at table five screamed. A glass shattered.
Tyler stopped recording and put his phone back in his pocket. He looked at the stunned crowd, then at James.
James sat frozen, looking as if struck by lightning. His face was ashen. He glanced at Caroline, then at his brother-in-law, Michael. The realization sent a wave of terror through him.
“James!” Caroline shouted, running toward him, her veil trailing behind her like a ghost. “James, it’s a deepfake! It’s artificial intelligence! You know how technology is these days!”
James slowly stood up. He looked at her stomach. Then at Michael.
“Is it true?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but in the deep silence it rang out like a gunshot.
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