The words drifted through the air between us.
I thought of every postponed vacation, every dinner I skipped because I had invoices to finish, every anxious Sunday when he assured me things were about to turn around.
“And the wedding?” I asked.
“Chelsea wanted something beautiful.”
I stared at him.
“Chelsea wanted something beautiful,” I repeated.
“I wanted to give her one good day.”
“With my money.”
“I used credit.”
“In my name.”
“I had access to the accounts.”
“You forged my authorization.”
His head came up. “I did not forge anything.”
“The caterer has a document with my name.”
“I signed it. But I thought you would understand eventually.”
The last word hollowed me out.
He had not only betrayed me. He had built his entire plan on the certainty that my pain would become another inconvenience I learned to manage.
The sliding door opened.
Chelsea stepped outside, no longer crying. Her face was washed clean, and she had changed into jeans and one of my old college sweatshirts. I had given it to her during a winter break years ago. She had kept it all this time.
“I didn’t know about the accounts,” she said.
Daniel rose quickly. “Chelsea, don’t.”
“No.” Her voice shook, but she held his gaze. “You told me Haley had agreed to pay for the venue because she did not want to host an engagement party. You said she offered the house.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You were using me.”
He looked at her as though she had changed shape.
Chelsea took a breath. “You told me she had stopped loving you. You told me she laughed when you said you wanted children. You said she called me needy and pathetic.”
My throat closed.
Daniel did not deny that either.
Chelsea turned toward me. “Did you say that?”
“No.”
