Chapter 2 - The Bride Martha Wanted
Claire didn't move toward us.
For a few seconds, she simply stood beneath the hallway light clutching the folder against her chest.
She looked nothing like the woman I remembered from Martha's carefully curated stories.
Martha always described Claire as flawless.
Claire had attended private schools.
Claire had studied abroad.
Claire knew “important people.”
Claire had impeccable taste.
Standing there, however, Claire looked exhausted.
Her mascara had smudged beneath one eye.
She wore a pale green cocktail dress instead of formal wedding attire.
Her hands were trembling.
Martha recovered first.
“You need to leave.”
Claire laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You've been telling me that for three days.”
Nick stepped between them.
“Claire, what is happening?”
Claire looked at me.
“First, Rebecca, I'm sorry.”
I almost laughed.
“Which part?”
“The wedding.”
“My hair?”
Her eyes flicked toward Martha's scissors.
“I didn't know she was going to do that.”
“So you knew she was going to do something?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Nick's face hardened.
“Start talking.”
Martha moved toward him.
“Nick, don't listen to her. She's upset.”
Claire opened the folder.
“I'm upset because your mother and mine have spent the last year planning how to break up your marriage before it even happened.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Not relationship.
Marriage.
“Before it happened?” I asked.
Claire nodded.
“This wasn't supposed to be your wedding day.”
Nick stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Claire handed him the folder.
Inside were printed emails.
Bank statements.
Receipts.
A copy of our wedding vendor list.
And a document with a title that made no sense.
PRIVATE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.
My name appeared on the first page.
So did Nick's.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A draft,” Claire said. “Your signatures aren't real.”
Nick flipped to the last page.
Two signatures appeared there.
Mine looked close.
Very close.
But it wasn't mine.
Nick's was worse.
Still recognizable enough that someone unfamiliar with his handwriting might believe it.
Martha spoke from behind us.
“It was never going to be used.”
Claire looked at her.
“Stop lying.”
“Don't speak to me like that.”
“Why? You're not my mother.”
“No,” Claire said. “Unfortunately, mine is just as bad.”
Nick read the document.
His face changed with every paragraph.
I looked over his shoulder.
The agreement claimed that Nick and I had voluntarily ended our engagement.
It claimed I would receive twenty-five thousand dollars.
It claimed I had agreed never to contact Nick again.
And buried halfway through was something even uglier.
I supposedly acknowledged that I had been unfaithful.
My stomach turned.
“You were going to tell people I cheated?”
Martha said nothing.
Claire answered.
“That was one version.”
“One version?”
“There were several.”
Nick slammed the folder onto the dressing table.
Martha jumped.
“Several?”
Claire nodded.
“My mother and Martha started talking seriously after your engagement.”
“We got engaged eighteen months ago,” I said.
“I know.”
“So they've been doing this for eighteen months?”
“Longer, probably.”
Nick looked at his mother.
“You told me you accepted Rebecca.”
“I tried.”
“No. You lied.”
Martha's mouth tightened.
“I wanted you to have choices.”
“I chose her eleven years ago.”
“You were children.”
“We aren't children now.”
Martha pointed toward Claire.
“Look at what you could have had.”
Claire flinched.
Nick looked disgusted.
“She isn't a house.”
“I didn't mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
Claire stepped closer to me.
“My mother always wanted this too.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Money.”
I frowned.
“Nick isn't rich.”
“No,” Claire said. “But his father was supposed to be.”
Nick went still.
“What?”
Claire looked toward Martha.
“Tell him.”
Martha's face had gone pale.
“Claire.”
“Tell him about Richard's estate.”
Nick's father, Richard Carter, had died two years earlier after a sudden heart attack.
He'd owned a small construction company.
Successful, yes.
But not wealthy.
At least that was what we believed.
After his death, Martha told Nick that the business had barely covered its debts.
Nick hadn't questioned her.
Why would he?
She was his mother.
“What estate?” he asked.
Claire exhaled.
“My mother told me your father had invested in Beaumont Development almost twenty years ago.”
Nick stared at her.
“Patricia's company?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don't know exactly. But enough that his shares are worth several million dollars now.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Nick looked at Martha.
“You said Dad left nothing except the house.”
Martha crossed her arms.
“He didn't.”
Claire shook her head.
“Martha.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“I've seen the documents.”
Nick's voice dropped.
“Where?”
Claire hesitated.
“My mother's office.”
Martha lunged for the folder.
Nick caught her wrist.
Not violently.
Just enough to stop her.
“Don't.”
She stared at him.
He released her.
For the first time, I saw something deeper than anger in his face.
Betrayal.
Martha had spent years criticizing me for not coming from money.
My father was a mechanic.
My mother had been an elementary school teacher.
We weren't poor, but we weren't Beaumont wealthy.
Martha made sure I understood the distinction.
She corrected my table manners.
Mocked the neighborhood where I grew up.
Once, at Thanksgiving, she suggested I wouldn't understand investment properties because “your family lives differently.”
And all that time, she may have been hiding millions from her own son.
“Why would my marriage matter?” Nick asked.
Claire swallowed.
“Because of the trust.”
“What trust?”
“Your father's investment wasn't directly in his name.”
Martha closed her eyes.
Claire continued.
“It was placed in a family trust. According to my mother, control transfers to you when you're thirty or when you marry.”
Nick was thirty.
He had turned thirty four months earlier.
“Then why don't I have it?”
“I don't know.”
“I do,” Martha said quietly.
Everyone turned.
She looked older suddenly.
Not weaker.
Just tired.
“Your father changed the trust.”
Nick said nothing.
“He knew I wanted you to marry Claire someday,” Martha continued. “He hated that.”
“Good.”
“He thought I interfered too much.”
“He was right.”
Martha ignored that.
“Six months before he died, he amended the documents.”
“How?”
She looked at me.
I knew before she spoke.
“He named Rebecca.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“As a beneficiary?”
“No.”
Martha's eyes filled with resentment.
“As a protector.”
I didn't understand.
Claire did.
She whispered, “Oh my God.”
Nick looked between us.
“Explain.”
Martha's voice became bitter.
“Your father knew you'd marry her.”
“Dad liked Rebecca.”
“He adored Rebecca.”
For some reason, hearing that hurt.
Richard had always been kind to me.
At family dinners, when Martha criticized my job or clothes, Richard changed the subject.
Once he pulled me aside and said, “Don't let Martha decide what kind of woman you are.”
I'd thought he was simply being nice.
Maybe he'd known far more.
Martha continued.
“The amendment said that once you married Rebecca, she would become co-trustee for five years.”
Nick stared at me.
I stared back.
Neither of us had known.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Richard didn't trust me.”
“And should he have?”
Martha looked away.
There was my answer.
Claire sat down.
“My mother wanted access to those shares.”
Nick understood.
“So marrying Claire would connect the Beaumont family to the trust.”
“Yes.”
“And marrying Rebecca prevents that.”
“Yes.”
The whole ugly history suddenly made sense.
Martha hadn't hated me because I wasn't rich.
She hated me because my existence stood between her and money.
My throat tightened.
“Why cut my hair?”
Martha looked at me.
For once, she had no quick answer.
Claire gave one.
“Humiliation.”
Martha snapped, “Shut up.”
“No.”
Claire stood.
“You told my mother you were going to provoke Rebecca into leaving.”
Nick's head turned sharply.
“What?”
Claire looked at him.
“The plan changed when the fake settlement failed.”
“What fake settlement?”
“Rebecca was supposed to receive it yesterday.”
I shook my head.
“I didn't.”
“I know. I intercepted the courier.”
That explained the note.
Claire continued.
“The document was supposed to make Rebecca believe Nick had signed it. There was another packet for Nick claiming Rebecca had accepted the money.”
Nick stared at his mother.
“You were going to convince both of us that the other ended the relationship?”
Martha looked defensive.
“You would have talked eventually.”
“After what? Days? Weeks?”
“I don't know.”
“And when that failed?”
Claire pointed toward the scissors.
“This.”
I touched what remained of my braid.
Martha had wanted me to explode.
Maybe slap her.
Maybe storm out.
Maybe create a scene ugly enough to ruin my own wedding.
She wanted evidence that I was unstable.
Unworthy.
A mistake.
Instead, she'd exposed herself.
Nick walked toward the reception hall.
“Where are you going?”
“To finish this.”
Martha followed.
“Nick.”
He didn't stop.
We returned to the ballroom.
The band was silent.
Nobody was dancing.
Our guests watched us enter.
Rachel still held my severed braid.
Nick walked directly to the stage.
The microphone was resting beside the keyboard.
He picked it up.
Martha froze.
“Nick, don't.”
He looked at her.
Then at me.
“Rebecca, is it okay?”
I knew what he meant.
Do you want this private?
I looked around at everyone who had watched Martha humiliate me.
Then I looked at the woman herself.
“No more secrets.”
Nick nodded.
He raised the microphone.
“My mother told everyone that cutting my wife's hair was a Carter family tradition.”
Martha whispered his name.
Nick continued.
“It isn't.”
The room went silent.
“She lied.”
Someone gasped.
“And unfortunately, that isn't the biggest lie we discovered tonight.”
Martha moved toward the stage.
Daniel stepped into her path.
Nick told our guests enough.
Not everything.
Not yet.
He explained that his mother had interfered with our wedding.
That she'd fabricated documents.
That she'd tried to separate us.
Then he did something I will never forget.
He came down from the stage.
Walked to me.
Took my hand.
And turned toward Martha.
“You spent years telling Rebecca she wasn't good enough for this family.”
Martha's eyes filled.
“Nick—”
“You were wrong.”
He looked at me.
“She was the best thing that ever happened to it.”
I started crying.
Not because of my hair.
Not anymore.
Martha's face crumpled.
“You're choosing her over your mother?”
Nick shook his head.
“This isn't a competition. That's the problem. You always thought it was.”
Then Daniel approached him.
“Nick.”
Something in his voice changed the mood.
Daniel was holding his phone.
“What?”
“You need to see this.”
He handed it over.
Nick read the screen.
Claire moved beside us.
“What happened?”
Daniel looked toward the entrance.
“Someone called the police.”
Martha's eyes widened.
But Daniel shook his head.
“They aren't coming for Martha.”
A man in a dark suit had just entered the reception hall.
Claire recognized him immediately.
Her face drained of color.
“That's my mother's attorney.”
The man walked directly toward me.
He carried a sealed envelope.
May you like
And across the front, in Richard Carter's handwriting, were six words:
FOR REBECCA—IF MARTHA TRIES TO STOP THE WEDDING.
