I told Diana I needed a moment.
She walked away.
I sat there alone at my table with my champagne glass and the ruins of what I’d thought this day was going to be.
Jolene found me about 4 minutes later.
I could tell by her face that she already knew.
Her eyes were red.
“Savannah, I don’t—”
I said, not angry, just tired, “Let’s just get through today.”
I want to be clear.
I followed every instruction.
I stayed out of the formal portraits.
I waited in the side room, which was a coat closet essentially, while my family stood in the golden September light and smiled for the photographer.
I sat in the dark, and I listened to the music through the wall, and I held it together.
But when I wheeled back into the reception, something had shifted in Brooke.
Maybe it was the champagne.
Maybe it was years of barely contained resentment, finally having nowhere left to go.
Maybe she’d planned this all along and was just waiting for the right moment.
I had wheeled up to a group of relatives, aunts and cousins I genuinely adore, and we were laughing about something, some old family story.
And I felt, for the first time all day, like I belonged somewhere.
And then Brooke appeared.
She didn’t come over to join the conversation.
She stood a few feet away, and she had this expression on her face, tight, white around the mouth, eyes sharp, and she said loudly enough for the people around us to hear.
“Savannah, can I talk to you for a second?”