That evening, my phone started buzzing. The family group chat was lighting up.
Beverly had posted a long message.
I owe everyone an apology. I damaged the wedding album out of jealousy and insecurity. It was a cruel thing to do. It was wrong. I take full responsibility, and I will be paying for the professional restoration of all the photos.
Moreover, Beverly forwarded an email to me. It was an invoice from a high-end photo restoration and data recovery service in the city. At the bottom, it said: Full payment: processed.
Two days later, Lila called me. “I don’t know what your mother-in-law did. But she paid for the expedited digital recovery service. It’s a lab that specializes in damaged hardware. We got most of the files back.”
I felt a knot in my stomach loosen. “They’re intact?”
“Yes. The raw files are fine. I’ll send the download link tonight. I am so sorry for the stress this caused.”
That evening, as I looked through the digital gallery, I felt a sense of stability and safety that had been missing from my life since my wedding day.
Beverly had tried to erase me, but I’d shown her I wouldn’t go down without a fight. All it had taken was an ironclad boundary.
I felt a sense of stability and safety.
