Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. She had spent the last ten minutes trying to remember whether her elbow had touched something, whether her hands had trembled, whether somehow she had caused the stain without realizing it.
Now she understood.
Vanessa had known the truth all along.
“She’s been trying to ruin this wedding for months,” Vanessa snapped. “You know how she is, Nathan. Always hovering. Always making everything about herself.”
Eleanor flinched.
Nathan noticed.
It was such a small movement, barely a tightening around his mother’s eyes, but it struck him harder than Vanessa’s shouting.
He suddenly remembered every family dinner when Eleanor had fallen silent after one of Vanessa’s remarks. Every invitation his mother had politely declined. Every telephone conversation that had ended with the same reassuring sentence.
“Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”
He had believed her because believing her had been easier than confronting the truth.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “why did you bring the roses?”
Eleanor looked down.
“Because you asked me to.”
Vanessa went perfectly still.
Nathan frowned.
“I didn’t ask you to bring flowers.”
Eleanor reached into her small navy handbag.
With shaking fingers, she took out her phone and opened a message.
“Three nights ago. You told me you wanted flowers from your father’s garden. You said you wanted to carry something that reminded you of him.”
Nathan read the message.
It had come from his number.
His throat tightened.
He remembered that evening clearly. Vanessa had borrowed his phone while hers was charging. She had said she needed to confirm arrangements with the photographer.
When she returned it, she had smiled and kissed him.
He had never checked the messages.
Nathan turned toward Vanessa.
“You sent this.”
She looked from his face to the screen.
“It’s just flowers.”
“You deliberately told my mother to bring them.”
