Chapter 6 - MY BEST FRIEND’S NAMEI called Melissa eleven times.
The woman was me.
At least, she looked like me.
Same hair.
Same camel-colored winter coat.
Same profile.
A man had one hand around my waist.
Our faces touched.
From the angle, we were kissing.
The headline beneath the image read:
MOTHER-IN-LAW CLAIMS VIRAL BRIDE WAS HAVING AFFAIR BEFORE WEDDING
I sat at our kitchen table wearing one of Nick’s old college sweatshirts.
My wedding dress was still hanging in a garment bag in the guest room.
I hadn’t been able to look at it.
My hair was uneven.
The stylist who came to our apartment at midnight had shaped the damage into a shoulder-length bob, but every time I touched it, I felt the missing weight.
Nick stood behind my chair.
“That isn’t you.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
“That isn’t evidence.”
“I don’t need evidence.”
The answer made my chest ache.
But the internet did.
My phone had become unusable.
Thousands of notifications.
Messages from reporters.
Customers.
Strangers.
Some supported me.
Others called me a gold digger, liar, cheater, actress.
My business page had been flooded with one-star reviews from people who had never hired me.
A bride canceled her floral contract because she “didn’t want controversy around her wedding.”
That one hurt.
Nick switched off my phone.
“Stop reading.”
“I own a business.”
“You also got assaulted yesterday.”
“I can’t disappear.”
“We can handle this.”
I almost asked who we meant.
Nick?
Lawyers?
Family?
For the first time, I realized just how far Martha’s sabotage might travel.
The doorbell rang.
Rebecca arrived carrying coffee and a laptop.
She had barely slept.
Neither had we.
“I found something.”
She set the computer on our table.
The fake photograph appeared again.
“I ran a reverse image search.”
“And?”
“The background is from a hotel in Boston.”
“I haven’t been to Boston in three years.”
“Exactly.”
Rebecca pulled up another photograph.
A woman stood outside the hotel with a man.
Different face.
Different hair.
Same coat.
Same body position.
Same hand placement.
Same lighting.
My mouth fell open.
“The photo was edited.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Badly, once you know what to look for.”
Nick leaned closer.
“So Mom paid someone to put Claire’s face onto another woman?”
“Probably.”
I felt both relief and rage.
“Can we prove when it was created?”
“I sent it to a digital forensics specialist.”
I looked at her.
“You have a digital forensics specialist?”
Rebecca smiled faintly.
“I manage compliance for an insurance company.”
For the first time, I saw Nick’s sister as more than a family secret.
She was capable.
Controlled.
And furious.
Her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
“Dad.”
She answered.
“Hello?”
We watched her expression change.
“When?”
She stood.
“I’m coming.”
She hung up.
“What happened?” Nick asked.
“Martha got released.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Pending review. They haven’t charged her with anything related to the medication yet.”
Nick swore.
“Where is she?”
Rebecca’s face went pale.
“At your parents’ house.”
“The house you own.”
“Yes.”
“What is she doing?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Changing the locks.”
Nick laughed in disbelief.
Rebecca didn’t.
“She told Dad she’s not leaving.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in Nick’s truck.
I didn’t want to go.
Then I decided I was tired of Martha controlling where I felt safe.
Robert’s house sat on three acres outside Columbus.
Beautiful white columns.
Tall oak trees.
A wraparound porch where Nick and Ethan had grown up.
When we arrived, a locksmith’s van was parked outside.
Martha stood on the porch.
She was still wearing the navy dress from the wedding.
Her hair was messy.
Her makeup gone.
But her posture remained defiant.
She looked at my new haircut.
And smiled.
“Much better.”
Nick stopped walking.
I grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“She wants the reaction.”
His jaw worked.
Then he nodded.
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Why are you changing my locks?”
Martha laughed.
“Your locks?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t stepped inside this house in twenty-two years.”
“It still belongs to me.”
“Not yet.”
Rebecca held up a folder.
“Actually, I spoke with the trust attorney this morning.”
Martha’s face changed.
“The property transferred early.”
Robert emerged from the house.
“What?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Mom’s trust included an acceleration clause.”
Robert stared.
Rebecca continued.
“If any resident attempted to sell, transfer, encumber, or materially alter the property before my fortieth birthday without trustee consent, ownership transferred immediately.”
She looked at Martha.
“Changing locks qualifies.”
I almost admired the cosmic perfection.
Martha’s mouth opened.
“That’s impossible.”
Rebecca handed her the document.
“Effective at 9:12 this morning, the house is legally mine.”
Martha tore the paper in half.
Rebecca didn’t flinch.
“I have copies.”
The locksmith quietly packed his tools.
Martha spun toward Robert.
“Fix this!”
“I can’t.”
“You can!”
“It isn’t mine.”
“You let that woman humiliate me from the grave!”
Robert’s face hardened.
“That woman’s name was Helen.”
Martha went silent.
Robert continued.
“And she never did anything to you.”
“She had your child!”
“Before I met you.”
“She had your loyalty.”
“No. She had my responsibility.”
Martha laughed bitterly.
“And what did I have?”
Robert looked at her for a long time.
“More than you appreciated.”
The words cut deeper than shouting.
Martha turned toward Nick.
“You’re just standing there?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to let them throw your mother out?”
Rebecca stepped in.
“I haven’t thrown anyone out.”
Everyone stared.
“I’m giving Dad thirty days to relocate.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“And Martha?”
Rebecca looked directly at her.
“She can stay.”
Nick frowned.
“What?”
Rebecca continued.
“Under one condition.”
Martha narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“You publicly retract everything you said about Claire.”
“No.”
“Then you leave today.”
Martha laughed.
“You think I need this house?”
Rebecca shrugged.
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”
Silence.
I realized what Rebecca was doing.
She wasn’t begging.
She wasn’t fighting.
She was giving Martha exactly what Martha had denied everyone else.
A choice.
Martha looked at me.
Her eyes burned.
“You’ve done this.”
“No,” I said. “You have.”
“You stole my son.”
“He’s standing six feet away. He can speak for himself.”
Nick stepped forward.
“I didn’t get stolen.”
“Nick—”
“I grew up.”
That hurt her.
I saw it.
“You confuse obedience with love,” he continued. “Every time I made a decision you didn’t control, you called it betrayal.”
Her chin trembled.
“You were my little boy.”
“I was.”
“You needed me.”
“I did.”
“And now?”
Nick looked at me.
Then back at her.
“Now I need you to understand that being my mother doesn’t give you ownership of my life.”
Martha’s eyes filled.
For one second, she looked small.
Human.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Then she looked at my hair.
“You’ll regret choosing her.”
The sympathy vanished.
Nick nodded.
“Leave.”
Robert closed his eyes.
Martha walked inside.
An hour later, she emerged with three suitcases.
She got into a rideshare without saying goodbye.
I thought that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
That night, Rebecca’s forensic specialist called.
The affair photograph was fake.
Completely fabricated.
But hidden inside the image file was metadata linking it to a freelance graphic designer.
And when the designer was contacted, he immediately panicked.
Because Martha hadn’t hired him.
Someone else had.
A woman named Melissa Grant.
I knew the name.
So did Nick.
May you like
Melissa was my maid of honor.
And my best friend of seventeen years.
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