Chapter 2 - THE ELEVEN-WEEK PROBLEM
For approximately five seconds after Brandon said Daphne had been in his apartment eleven weeks earlier, nobody moved.
Then everybody moved at once.
Wyatt stepped away from my sister.
My mother said Daphne’s name.
My father asked Brandon what the hell he was talking about.
Three cousins lowered their phones after realizing they were recording something that had suddenly stopped being funny.
And Daphne—
Daphne stared at me.
Not Brandon.
Me.
Because somewhere inside that panicked brain of hers, she had already decided the biggest betrayal in the room was that I had allowed reality to attend my wedding.
“You did this.”
Her voice came out small.
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“You invited him.”
“Yes.”
“That means you did this.”
Lucas shifted closer to me.
His hand found mine.
I looked at Daphne.
“You ordered a pregnancy cake for my reception and lied to the baker that I approved it.”
“That has nothing to do with Brandon.”
“It has everything to do with Brandon if you’re announcing a pregnancy that may involve him.”
Wyatt turned sharply.
“May?”
There it was.
The question nobody wanted to ask.
Brandon looked toward him.
“I don’t know.”
Wyatt’s face went white.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean exactly what you think I mean.”
Daphne started shaking her head.
“No.”
Brandon reached into his jacket and held up his phone.
“You came to my apartment on May twenty-seventh.”
“I came to talk.”
“You stayed until six the next morning.”
A murmur moved through the room.
My mother whispered:
“Daphne.”
Daphne’s eyes flashed.
“Stop.”
Brandon unlocked his phone.
Wyatt walked toward him.
“What do you have?”
“Messages.”
“Brandon.”
Daphne’s voice cracked.
He looked at her.
“You had a week.”
“What?”
“You knew Charlotte invited me.”
That surprised me.
“I didn’t tell her.”
Brandon shook his head.
“You messaged me Thursday asking whether I planned to come.”
Every head turned toward Daphne.
Her lips parted.
Wyatt said:
“You knew?”
Daphne’s eyes moved wildly around the room.
“I knew he might try something.”
Brandon laughed without humor.
“Try something?”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
“No.”
He held up the phone.
“I was stupid enough to believe you when you said your marriage was basically over.”
Wyatt went completely still.
The room became quieter.
Daphne closed her eyes.
That was almost worse than denial.
Wyatt’s voice dropped.
“You told him our marriage was over?”
“No.”
Brandon scrolled.
“I have it.”
He read.
“‘Wyatt and I haven’t been right for months. I don’t know why I’m still pretending.’”
Daphne lunged.
Lucas moved before I did.
He stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
Daphne stared at my husband.
“This is family.”
Lucas’s expression hardened.
“So is Charlotte.”
That sentence hit harder than it should have.
For years, Lucas had watched my parents ask me to make myself smaller around Daphne.
He had been polite.
Tonight he was finished.
Brandon continued.
Another message.
“‘Sometimes I think I married the safe person because I was afraid the person I actually loved would leave again.’”
Wyatt looked sick.
Daphne’s face crumpled.
“That was after a fight.”
Brandon said:
“You sent it at one in the morning.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No.”
He looked at Wyatt.
“The next messages do.”
“Stop.”
Daphne’s voice shook.
Brandon did not.
He showed Wyatt the screen.
I did not move closer.
I did not need the details.
Wyatt read for maybe fifteen seconds.
Then handed the phone back.
His expression changed in a way I will never forget.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Something quieter.
Like the moment a person realizes the home they thought they lived in was only scenery.
“When?”
Daphne started crying.
“Wyatt.”
“When did you sleep with him?”
My mother moved forward.
“Maybe this conversation should happen privately.”
Wyatt laughed.
“Now you want privacy?”
Mom stopped.
He turned toward Daphne.
“At Charlotte’s wedding, you announced our baby in front of one hundred sixteen people.”
His voice cracked.
“So answer me in front of them.”
Daphne covered her stomach.
“Don’t stress me.”
The manipulation was so automatic I think she did not even hear herself.
Wyatt did.
His face hardened.
“Do not use the baby to stop me from asking whether it’s mine.”
The room went silent again.
Brandon looked away.
My father finally moved.
He stepped toward Daphne.
“Sweetheart, just tell the truth.”
I almost turned on him.
Sweetheart.
Even now.
Even here.
But something in Dad’s face stopped me.
He looked devastated.
Maybe he was beginning to understand that “you know how Daphne is” had never actually protected her.
It had trained her.
Daphne whispered:
“Once.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened.
Wyatt stared.
“Once?”
“Yes.”
Brandon said:
“Twice.”
She spun.
“You said you wouldn’t—”
Then stopped.
Too late.
Wyatt actually stumbled backward.
My mother covered her mouth.
Daphne started sobbing.
“It didn’t mean anything.”
Brandon flinched.
Wyatt laughed once.
“You told him you loved him.”
“I was confused.”
“You slept with him twice.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Twice.”
“I was upset.”
“Because of what?”
“You were never home.”
Wyatt’s face changed.
There it was.
Her instinct.
Find somebody else’s contribution.
Make the betrayal communal.
Wyatt looked at her for several seconds.
Then removed his wedding ring.
My mother gasped.
“Wyatt.”
He placed it on the table beside the pregnancy cake.
Tiny pink and blue shoes.
Gold lettering.
A ring beside it.
The image was almost cruelly perfect.
Daphne stared.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
She grabbed his arm.
“Wyatt, please.”
He pulled free.
“I need a paternity test.”
Her face went blank.
Brandon looked down.
Wyatt continued.
“And I need you away from me until I know what is true.”
Daphne panicked.
“You can’t abandon me while I’m pregnant.”
“I am not abandoning a child.”
His voice shook.
“I’m separating myself from a wife who lied to me.”
He walked toward the exit.
My mother followed two steps.
“Wyatt, please don’t make decisions tonight.”
He turned.
“With respect, Linda, I think this family has delayed enough decisions because somebody might upset Daphne.”
Mom stopped.
That one landed.
Then Wyatt looked at me.
“Charlotte.”
I swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“This.”
He looked around my reception.
The cake.
Guests.
Whispers.
“My marriage exploded at your wedding.”
I surprised myself by smiling faintly.
“Apparently we’re sharing milestones.”
He almost laughed.
Then left.
Daphne turned on me the second the doors closed.
“You’re happy.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You hated that I was pregnant.”
Lucas stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Daphne ignored him.
“You couldn’t let me have one happy thing.”
Something inside me finally broke loose.
Not rage.
Clarity.
“Daphne.”
My voice was quiet.
“This was my wedding.”
She froze.
“I did let you have something happy.”
“Birthdays.”
“Christmas.”
“Graduations.”
“Engagements.”
“Your own wedding.”
I pointed toward the tiny pregnancy cake.
“You are the one who decided my wedding needed to become yours too.”
Her face twisted.
“I wanted the family to celebrate.”
“Then host dinner next weekend.”
“You knew Brandon was coming.”
“Yes.”
“You set a trap.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I opened a door.”
She stared.
“If the truth walking through it destroyed your announcement, that is not because I created the truth.”
My mother said:
“Charlotte, that’s enough.”
I looked at her.
And maybe it was the dress.
Maybe the champagne.
Maybe twenty-eight years of being told enough whenever I finally defended myself.
But this time I laughed.
“No, Mom.”
She blinked.
“Tonight, I decide when enough is enough.”
Then I turned toward Lucas.
He was watching me with that same expression he had worn at the altar.
Tears threatening.
Love obvious.
“You still want cake?”
He looked toward our four-tier wedding cake.
Then toward Daphne’s abandoned announcement cake.
“Desperately.”
I smiled.
We walked back to ours.
The room did not know what to do.
So I told them.
“Everybody.”
Guests turned.
“My sister has had a very eventful dessert course.”
A few nervous laughs.
I picked up the cake knife.
“But Lucas and I got married today.”
His arm wrapped around me.
“And I refuse to let the strangest twenty minutes of our lives become the only thing we remember.”
More people smiled.
“So we’re cutting our cake.”
Someone applauded.
Then another.
Then the whole room.
Daphne stood near the edge of the terrace crying beside the cake she had ordered to steal the spotlight.
And for the first time in my life, I did not go comfort her.
Lucas and I cut our cake.
He deliberately put frosting on my nose.
I retaliated.
Our photographer captured it.
My father laughed weakly.
My grandmother laughed properly.
The band restarted.
Twenty minutes later, Lucas pulled me onto the dance floor.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I smiled.
“You?”
“I would like to fight several people.”
“That seems romantic.”
“I’m a newlywed.”
I rested my head against his shoulder.
Behind him, I could see my mother helping Daphne leave.
My father followed.
They did not ask me if I was okay.
Not once.
That hurt.
But not enough to ruin the dance.
Lucas whispered:
“You know this still belongs to us.”
I closed my eyes.
May you like
“Yes.”
And for the first time, I actually believed it.
