I kept apologizing between sobs, like I was inconveniencing her with my pain.
Grandma let me spill it all.
Then her voice changed—not angry, not panicked.
Just… controlled.
“Listen to me,” she said. “I want you to be careful and do everything they tell you, for now.”
I swallowed hard. “Why?”
“Because the moment I arrive,” she said, “I’ll throw them a celebration they’ll never forget.”
That should’ve sounded ridiculous.
But something in her tone made it feel like a promise.
So I did it.
I kept going.
I booked the restaurant.
I confirmed seating.
I sent invitations.
I even picked up the wedding dress.
Every time I asked for help, Amanda waved me off like I was annoying her.
“Don’t be so useless.”
The day of the “celebration,” I was exhausted.
An hour before we were supposed to leave, I was lying in bed with my leg propped up and my arm aching.
Then the doorbell rang.
“I can’t go downstairs,” I called out.
Amanda swung my door open.
Her face twisted like my pain was a personal insult.
“You’re so useless,” she snapped. “Why do I even feed you?”
I heard her go downstairs.
I heard the front door open.
Then I heard Grandma’s cheerful voice.
“Hi, dear! It’s time for the celebration!”
And then—
A loud thud.
Like something heavy hit the floor with purpose.
My dad shouted, “MOM, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY TODAY, OF ALL DAYS?!”
Amanda shrieked, “What is WRONG with you?!”
I pushed myself upright.
I had to see what could make them sound like that.
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