“I wanted one day that looked like something I’d accomplished.”
Marcus stared at her.
“So you screamed at Mom?”
Brielle’s face crumpled.
“I know it sounds terrible.”
“It was terrible.”
She looked toward Evelyn.
“I felt like everyone was looking at her instead of me.”
Evelyn was stunned.
“Brielle, I arrived in a navy dress and sat at the table your planner assigned me. I didn’t make a speech. I didn’t ask for anything.”
“You asked about the mother-son dance.”
“Once.”
“And Marcus kept saying we needed to include you.”
Evelyn’s eyes moved toward her son.
Marcus lowered his head.
Brielle continued.
“I thought if I controlled the reception, maybe I’d stop feeling like the bride whose wedding her mother-in-law bought.”
Evelyn listened carefully.
She could understand feeling indebted.
She could understand embarrassment about money.
But none of that explained why Brielle had chosen to attack her appearance in front of hundreds of guests.
“Did calling me fat make you feel more accomplished?” Evelyn asked quietly.
Brielle looked down.
“No.”
“Did telling your husband to get rid of me make the wedding feel more like yours?”
Her eyes filled.
“No.”
“Then you need to stop confusing your feelings about money with permission to treat other people cruelly.”
Brielle began crying.
Marcus didn’t reach for her.
