Michael couldn’t speak. He stared at the floor, his face burning with shame. His silence was a confession.
James turned to Caroline. « You’re pregnant… with his child? With my brother-in-law? »
“James, please, can I explain, I was scared, I love you!” she sobbed, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket.
James ripped her hands apart as if they had been doused with acid. He took off his wedding ring—the heavy gold band he’d put on an hour ago—and dropped it into her champagne glass. It landed with a dull clatter.
“We’re leaving,” James’s father announced, standing up. He looked at Beverly with disgust. “This family is a cesspool.”
James left. He didn’t look back. His parents followed. Then his friends. And then half the room.
The only sound accompanying Beverly’s destruction was the sound of chairs being moved and footsteps retreating.
“You fools!” Beverly screamed at her children. “You complete idiots! You ruined everything!”
“I learned from the best, Mom,” Michael growled, finally finding his voice, though his voice was laced with bitterness and defeat.
Caroline lay on the floor, crying into her tulle skirt. Beverly looked around frantically, trying to catch the eye of anyone who might still matter, but everyone looked away.
The empire fell. And its undoing was an eight-year-old boy with a cracked iPhone.
Tyler descended the steps from the stage. He walked past his sobbing aunt and his disgraced father, and straight to me.
He slipped his small, warm hand into mine.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered, looking at me with wide, worried eyes. “I know you wanted to be good. But I couldn’t let them hurt you.”
I knelt down and hugged him so tight I thought I would crush him.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I sobbed into his neck. “You’re the bravest man I know.”
Chapter 4: Departure
I stood up, wiping my eyes. I looked at the ruins of the presidential table.
Beverly looked at us, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water.
“Jennifer,” she stammered. “You… you put him up to this.”
I laughed. It was a casual, light sound.
“I didn’t have to, Beverly,” I said, my voice carrying easily in the half-empty room. “Unlike you, I raised my son with integrity.”
I looked at Michael. He looked devastated.
“You left us because we weren’t good enough for your image,” I said. “But look at yourself now. You’ve ruined yourself.”
I squeezed Tyler’s hand. « Come on, Ty. Let’s go home. »
We left. We walked down the center aisle with our heads held high, passing whispers and stares. But this time, the stares weren’t mocking. They were bewildered.
We stepped out into the cool Boston evening. The air tasted sweet. It tasted of freedom.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Tyler asked as we waited for a taxi.
“I’m better than okay,” I said, looking up at the stars. “I think I’m finally free.”
Epilogue: The Architect of Tomorrow
The following weeks were one big streak of satisfaction.
Word of the « Red Wedding » spread like wildfire across Boston. A clip of Tyler’s speech—filmed by a guest—went viral locally. People came to the Maple Diner just to shake my hand.
“You’re the lady with the brave kid,” the construction worker told me, leaving me a fifty-dollar tip. “Congratulations.”
Mr. Hartman, the restaurant owner, called me into his office a month later.
“Jennifer,” he said, leaning back in his creaky chair. “You’ve been running this department for ten years. You handle schedules, inventory, and difficult clients better than I do.”
I braced myself, expecting a lecture on media attention.
“I’m opening a second location in Cambridge,” he said. “I need a CEO. I want it to be you.”
I blinked. « Me? »
« Yes, you. That comes with a salary, benefits, and profit sharing. »
Tears welled up in my eyes again, but they were tears of joy. “I won’t let you down.”
Meanwhile, the house of cards Beverly had built fell apart.
Michael was fired. His company had a strict morality clause, and sleeping with his sister’s fiancé while (on paper) married to someone else didn’t sit well with management. He moved into a studio apartment.
Caroline left town. The shame was too great. She moved to the Midwest to raise her child alone—living the exact same life she’d ridiculed me for, but without the courage to deal with it.
And Beverly? She became an outcast. Social invitations stopped coming. She sat in her large, empty house, surrounded by expensive things and in absolute silence.
One evening, six months later, I was sitting at our kitchen table. It was covered with textbooks. I had signed up for an evening business management class.
Tyler sat across from me, doing his homework. He looked up, chewing on a pencil.
“Mama?”
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