Guests were whispering awkwardly, setting down their drinks, checking their coats.
The mood wasn’t just ruined, it was utterly destroyed.
I took a final slow sip of my tea, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.
I turned away from the window and walked back to my kitchen table, waiting for the inevitable ring.
My phone buzzed at exactly 12:05 a.m.
The screen flashed brightly in the dark room.
Sarah.
I let it ring three times before sliding my finger across the screen.
I didn’t say a word.
I just listened.
The background noise was sheer chaos.
I could hear David arguing loudly with the caterer, his voice pitching high with panic.
“Mom.”
Sarah’s voice was a frantic, breathless whisper.
She was hiding somewhere hyperventilating.
“Mom, what is happening? The internet is gone. And the caterer, the card declined. He needs $3,000 right now. David’s cards are maxed.”
She paused, taking a ragged breath, finally connecting the dots.
“What did you do?” she gasped.
I leaned back in my chair, looking at my packed suitcase.
I thought about the two years of disrespect and the cold text message she had sent me that morning.
I felt no pity.
I kept my voice low, steady, and completely devoid of emotion.
“You found out too late,” I replied coldly.
“Mom, please,” she sobbed, abandoning all her pride. “David’s parents are watching. Just turn it back on, please.”