Emily took me into a small sitting room near the chapel.
My hands were shaking, so I folded them in my lap.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve said something sooner.”
“Said what?”
She hesitated.
“Linda has been changing things all morning.”
My stomach tightened.
“What things?”
“Seating. Photographs. Who gets access to Sophie. She even told one of Sophie’s aunts that the bride wanted children kept away from the front rows.”
“And did she?”
“No.”
Emily knelt in front of me.
“Sophie gave us a family photo list two weeks ago. Your name was near the top.”
I looked at her.
“You’re certain?”
“She wrote, ‘Daniel with Grandma Agnes’ in bold.”
The hurt I had been trying to contain changed shape.
Humiliation became anger.
Not loud anger.
Something colder.
Linda had not merely insulted me.
She had borrowed Sophie’s name to do it.
“Where is Sophie?”
“In the bridal room.”
“I want to speak to her.”
Emily’s eyes widened.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
The bridal suite smelled of hairspray, roses, and expensive perfume.
When Sophie saw me enter, her whole face softened.
“There you are! I’ve been asking where you were.”
Linda was not in the room.
Good.
Sophie crossed toward me, careful of her dress, and took both my hands.
“Are you okay?”
I studied her expression.
No guilt.
No discomfort.
No knowledge.
“Did you ask Linda to remove me from the family photographs?”
The room became silent.
Sophie blinked.
“What?”
“Did you tell her I looked too frail to be photographed with you?”
Her face changed.
“Absolutely not.”
Emily shut the door behind us.
Sophie’s mother slowly lowered the lipstick she had been holding.
I told Sophie exactly what had happened.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
I repeated Linda’s words.
I told her about the push.
Sophie went white.
“She pushed you?”
“She says I lost my balance.”
Emily spoke from behind me.
