He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you let Vanessa remove it?”
He stared toward the table.
“She said it would make the reception too sentimental. She wanted to focus on us.”
I looked at him.
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her it mattered to you?”
“No.”
I sat back.
That answer explained more than anything else he’d said.
I’d spent years believing Daniel was caught between two difficult women.
But I was beginning to see that he had made choices too.
He’d allowed Vanessa to believe my wishes didn’t matter because telling her otherwise would have required a conversation he didn’t want to have.
“Daniel,” I said, “I don’t want to be the person you blame when your wife is unhappy.”
He looked startled.
“I’m not blaming you.”
“Then stop bringing me her complaints as though I need to fix them.”
He nodded slowly.
I continued.
“You’re forty-three years old. You made a decision to marry Vanessa. I respect that. But you also have to take responsibility for how you behave inside that marriage.”
He stared at his tea.
Then he reached into his jacket pocket.
He took out a folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The hotel invoice.”
I frowned.
“The hotel sent me the final accounting after I asked Melissa to forward it.”
He placed it on the table.
