I rubbed my temples.
“You think it’s over?”
“Knowing them?” she said. “Not a chance.”
And she was right.
Because that night, just as I was putting the kids to bed, I got a text from an unknown number.
It was a photo, a picture of me at the venue standing by the sign looking stunned.
Underneath, the caption read, “People will know who you really are.”
Ava’s doing, no doubt.
But what she didn’t realize was that Mark’s father had already called me again that evening, and what he said next changed everything.
He wanted to meet privately to discuss something about the money, something Ava and Carol clearly didn’t know I was about to do.
I met Mark’s father the next afternoon at a quiet cafe on the edge of town.
It was one of those old-fashioned places that still smelled faintly of roasted beans and would polish where conversations seemed to disappear into the hum of espresso machines.
I walked in wearing a plain jacket, trying to keep things low-key.
He was already there, a tall man with silver hair and a posture that radiated old school dignity.
His name was Richard, and when he stood to shake my hand, I could tell he wasn’t the type to waste words.
“Daniel,” he said with a firm grip. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” I said, sitting down. “You mentioned something about the wedding money.”
He nodded and took a sip of coffee before speaking.
“I’ll be direct with you. My son told me everything about the sign, about what your stepsister did. He’s deeply embarrassed, but he’s also angry. Not at you.”
“That’s a relief,” I said dryly.
Richard’s mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile.
“He told me you covered most of the expenses. Venue, catering, the works.”
I nodded.
“Everything except the dress, as far as I know.”
He leaned forward.
“Did they ever pay you back?”
I shook my head.
“It wasn’t a loan. Carol said she couldn’t afford much and I didn’t want her to feel pressured. I figured I’d take the loss and keep the peace.”
He tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully.
“Then you deserve to know something. Mark found some documents in Ava’s wedding binder when he was packing his things. Bank transfers, vendor receipts, invoices that were supposed to be under her name, but were instead copied with your signature.”
My stomach tightened.
“Copied?”
He nodded.
“Forged. She used your name to secure a few last minute upgrades. A second catering package, premium wine, and the string quartet, all build directly under you. When the venue requested payment this morning, they sent the invoice to her address in your name.”
I stared at him, processing it.
I’d agreed to pay for most of the wedding, but I’d already settled my share weeks ago.
Anything she added afterward, that was on her.
But now my name was on the hook.