The word was quiet, but Nina heard it from beside the service table.
The clip continued.
Evie freed the veil.
Celeste turned toward her. The bride’s smile remained for two seconds, long enough for a guest passing in the background to wave at the camera.
Then the guest moved away.
Celeste looked down at Evie’s shoe.
Her face changed.
The clip did not capture every word clearly. Wind moved across the microphone. Someone called from the garden. But the picture was clear enough: Celeste grabbed Evie by the upper arm, bent close, and pointed toward the service entrance.
Evie’s mother made a small sound.
On-screen, the little girl looked back toward the garden before allowing herself to be led inside.
The clip ended.
Nobody spoke.
Celeste folded her arms.
“You’re making this look much worse than it was.”
Evie’s mother turned toward her daughter.
“Did she hurt you?”
Evie stared at the floor.
Celeste answered first. “Of course I didn’t hurt her.”
Evie’s mother raised one hand.
“I asked Evie.”
The bride went silent.
Evie touched the damp edge of her grocery bag with one shoe.
“She squeezed my shoulders.”
Her mother crouched.
“Anything else?”
Evie looked at Celeste.
The pearl at the neckline of the wedding dress caught the service light.
“She made me say sorry again because I didn’t sound sorry right.”
Celeste exhaled. “She had just ruined the photographs.”
The photographer looked at the screen.
