He looked toward the technician.
“Please disconnect the system.”
The screen went dark.
The room remained silent for several seconds.
Then my grandmother stood.
She was eighty-one years old, small and elegant, with silver hair pinned neatly behind her ears. She had spent the morning telling everyone how proud she was of me.
Now she lifted her glass.
“I don’t know who thought this was an appropriate thing to do at a wedding,” she said, her voice steady. “But I know my granddaughter. I know her heart. And I will not allow someone else’s cruelty to turn a day of love into a day of shame.”
She raised her glass toward us.
“To Olivia and Ethan.”
A few people joined her.
Then more.
Within moments, the room filled with applause.
My eyes burned.
I had expected to feel victorious when people finally stood on my side. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sadness for the wedding I might have had if Vanessa had simply chosen to be honest about her feelings.
