Maddie raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. In hindsight, I should’ve paid more attention to that silence.
Maddie was my maid of honor. We’d been inseparable since we were 12, when I puked on her gym shoes on the first day of middle school. We survived first loves, my mom’s illness, dorm-room breakups — all of it.
She was the person who made the world feel safe.
Jake was my future. Maddie was my forever.
I was the idiot who thought I could trust them both.
Then the email arrived.
It didn’t come with drama. No ominous call, no mysterious stranger. Just a notification ping in the middle of an ordinary afternoon.
Subject line: “Please read this before Saturday.”
I clicked with zero suspicion. I thought it was a reminder from the venue or a last-minute detail. The sender was a name I recognized: Emily — one of the junior coordinators from the venue tour. Kind, a little too honest, the type of person you instinctively like.
There was no greeting. No warm introduction. Just one sentence:
“Your wedding will be ruined, Tamara. Be careful.”
Attached below was a file with my name on it.
When I opened it, my entire world collapsed in three seconds.
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