Vanessa had been my closest friend since college. She had slept beside me on hospital waiting-room chairs when my father was dying. She had helped me move apartments, celebrated my promotions, and held my hand when I cried after a pregnancy scare that turned out to be nothing.
I had considered her family.
When Ethan proposed, Vanessa had screamed louder than I did. She had insisted on being my maid of honor, volunteered to coordinate the bridesmaids, and offered to manage the rings because she knew how important the ceremony was to me.
Now, every memory had acquired a second meaning.
Her insistence on controlling the wedding schedule. Her strange habit of finding reasons to speak privately with Ethan. The little comments about how he deserved someone adventurous, someone who could keep up with his career.
I had dismissed all of it.
I had trusted her because I believed friendship meant giving people the benefit of the doubt.
