When her future daughter-in-law slips her a sealed letter moments before the wedding ceremony, Janine thinks it’s a love note. What unfolds after the wedding is anything but. Soon, secrets unravel, trust is shattered, and silence becomes the loudest truth of all.
I should have known something was wrong the moment Amy asked to see me alone.
She was already in her wedding dress, the white silk hugging her figure like moonlight. Her hair was swept up with tiny pearls.
But her hands, her hands were ice. “I need you to do something for me,” she said, her voice flat but composed.
She reached into her clutch and pulled out a single white envelope.
She pressed it into my hand like it was something delicate… or dangerous. “Give this to Leo.
After the ceremony.
Not before. Not during.
After.”
I looked at her, my heart picking up like a drum in my throat. “Amy…
darling, is everything okay?
Are you nervous?”
“He needs to hear it from you. It has to be you,” she shook her head. There was something final in her voice.
Not dramatic.
Just… settled.
Like the decision had already been made, and this moment was just a formality. I hesitated, turning the envelope over in my hand.
“What’s in the letter?” I asked gently.
Amy didn’t answer. She just nodded once, the way you might nod at the wind, and left the room, the train of her dress floating behind her like a ghost that had already made peace with its past. I stared down at the envelope.
It wasn’t heavy.
A single sheet, maybe two. It wasn’t bulky or bloodstained or marked with anything sinister.
But my gut twisted like it knew better. For a moment, I thought about opening it.
Just a peek.
I even slid a finger along the seal. Was this just cold feet? Was she scared?
Did she need help and simply not know how to ask?
And then, like a film reel flickering to life, a memory slid into my mind. It was quiet but clear.
Crystal clear. It was two months ago, with Amy sitting across from me at my kitchen table.
Mismatched mugs, crumbs from store-bought biscuits and homemade pie on the placemats.
She was wearing a gray cardigan, sleeves pulled over her hands, even though it was warm out. “How do you know you can trust someone?” she asked me out of nowhere. “When they show you who they are, again and again,” I looked up from my tea, startled.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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