Preston’s parents calling security, their faces tight with fury. Men in suits grabbing her arms, dragging her out while she fought and screamed. And Preston himself?
She remembered how tightly he had squeezed Simone’s waist during the dance, the possessive grip of his fingers. He simply wouldn’t let her go. He would fight for what he considered his property, and in a room full of his family’s guests and security, Doris would lose.
No. She needed a plan, something smarter than raw emotion and maternal fury. She needed help.
She needed allies. Doris scanned the tables quickly and spotted Simone’s friends—Kendra and Sierra—sitting together with another friend from college, a petite woman with dark hair named Aubrey. The four of them had been close since freshman year at the University of North Texas, bonded by late-night study sessions and shared struggles and the thousand small moments that create true friendship.
If anyone could help, if anyone would believe her and act without hesitation, it was them. Doris moved quickly toward their table, clutching the bouquet so tightly the stems bit into her palm, leaving red marks. A wild, risky plan was forming in her mind.
It was insane, desperate, the kind of thing that could backfire spectacularly. But she saw no other way, no other path that didn’t end with Simone trapped. She slipped into the empty chair next to Kendra and leaned in close, her voice low and urgent.
“I need your help. Right now. This very second.”
Kendra, a cheerful young woman with round cheeks and a riot of red curls piled on top of her head, turned toward her.
She had been Simone’s closest friend the longest, since freshman orientation, and knew her inside and out. The smile on her face faded when she saw Doris’s expression. “Ms.
Jones, is something wrong?” Kendra asked, her voice dropping to match Doris’s serious tone, anxiety creeping into her eyes. “Simone is in danger,” Doris said firmly, looking her straight in the eyes, willing her to understand the urgency. “I can’t explain everything here, not now, but I need to get her out of this place.
And I need your help to do it. All of you.”
Sierra, a tall blonde with a sharp gaze and an athlete’s build from her college volleyball days, leaned closer, her expression alert. Aubrey, small and dark-haired with quick, intelligent eyes, looked at Doris in alarm, her hand frozen halfway to her champagne glass.
“Are you serious?” Sierra whispered, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “Right now? In the middle of the wedding reception with two hundred people watching?”
“Especially in the middle of the wedding,” Doris replied, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her.
“While everyone’s distracted. While Preston thinks he’s won.”
She reached into her purse, pulled out a pen, grabbed a paper napkin from the table, and quickly wrote a few words in capital letters for clarity. In 5 minutes, go to Simone.
Tell her you need her urgently. Do not leave her alone for a second. She slid the napkin to Kendra.
The girl read it and went pale, all the color draining from her face. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God,” Kendra whispered, her hand shaking slightly as she set the napkin down.
“Is this because of Preston? Did he hurt her?”
“I’ll explain later,” Doris said, already writing on another napkin. “Will you do it?
I need to know you’re with me before we start this.”
Kendra hesitated for only a heartbeat, her eyes flickering to where Simone stood on the distant platform, then back to Doris. Then she nodded decisively, her jaw setting with determination. “Of course I will.
Simone’s my best friend. I’d do anything for her.”
Doris took two more napkins and scribbled short instructions for Sierra and Aubrey, her handwriting rushed but legible. Sierra was to approach from the other side, mention some made-up tradition about the bride needing a moment with her bridesmaids, and insist that Simone needed to step away to change or fix her dress—any excuse that sounded plausible.
Aubrey was to act as cover, distracting Preston or his parents if necessary, keeping their attention diverted while the others moved Simone away from the crowd. The girls read their napkins silently, their eyes moving quickly over the words. They exchanged quick glances, a whole conversation happening in the space of a few seconds without words.
Doris watched their faces shift—from surprise to dawning understanding, from understanding to hardening determination, the kind of resolve that comes when you realize your friend needs you and there’s no time to second-guess. “Have you noticed anything wrong with her?” Doris asked quietly, needing to know if her instincts were shared, if she was the only one who had seen the signs. “Over the past few months?
Any changes in how she acted?”
Sierra slowly nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “She’s been different the last couple of months,” Sierra said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Withdrawn.
Distant. We used to see each other every week without fail, just hanging out around Dallas—brunch at our favorite spots, shopping at NorthPark Mall, movie nights at Kendra’s apartment with popcorn and wine. Then she started canceling plans out of nowhere, saying she was busy, that Preston needed her for something.
And when we did manage to get together, she was constantly checking her phone, jumping whenever it rang like she was expecting bad news.”
She paused, swallowing hard. “I just thought she was in love,” Sierra admitted, guilt flickering across her face. “You know, the way people get weird at the beginning of a relationship.
All consumed and distracted. I thought it was just… the effect of a new relationship making her act different. I didn’t think…”
“I saw a bruise,” Aubrey said suddenly, her voice small but firm.
She touched her own shoulder as if feeling phantom pain. “Three weeks ago, when we went shoe shopping for the wedding at NorthPark Mall, trying to find the perfect heels. She tried on a dress in one of those boutiques, and the strap slipped down her shoulder.
I saw the mark on her skin—dark purple and yellow, the colors of an old bruise. She said she’d bumped into a door frame at Preston’s place, that she was clumsy, but the bruise was… odd. Not the round shape you get from hitting something.
Like the shape of fingers, like somebody had grabbed her hard and held on.”
Doris’s stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising. Fingers. So it had started even then, maybe earlier.
And she—her own mother—hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t known, had been too busy being happy about the wedding to notice that her daughter was being hurt. “I tried to talk to her once,” Kendra added, nervously twisting the edge of her napkin until it tore slightly. “About a month ago.
I asked straight up, just the two of us in my car after lunch. ‘Simone, are you really happy? This seems so fast.
Maybe you should wait, get to know him better before jumping into marriage.’ She looked at me like she was scared, like I’d said something dangerous, and said, ‘Kendra, everything’s fine. I’m just nervous. It’s the wedding, you know, all the stress.
Please don’t make this harder.’ But I knew she was lying. I could see it in her eyes. And I still didn’t push.
I still didn’t do anything. I was afraid to interfere, afraid I was wrong. I thought, ‘What if I’m imagining things?
What if they really are happy and I ruin it?’”
“Stop blaming yourselves,” Doris said sharply, reaching out to grip Kendra’s hand. “There’s no time for guilt or second-guessing. We’re going to fix this right now.
We’re going to get her out.”
She looked each of them in the eye, making sure they understood the stakes. “Are you ready? Because once we start, we can’t stop.
We’re committed.”
All three girls nodded, their expressions resolute. “Then listen very carefully,” Doris said, leaning in closer so her voice wouldn’t carry. “In five minutes—I’ll check my watch and signal you—Kendra, you go to Simone.
Tell her you have to carry out some important tradition, that the bride needs a moment alone with her friends to make a wish or do some ritual. Improvise if you have to, make it sound authentic. The important thing is to get her away from Preston.
If he refuses to let her go, Sierra, you back her up immediately. Say it’s a mandatory part of the program, some Southern wedding tradition the planner mysteriously forgot to include in the schedule. Preston won’t want to come off as the guy who ruins traditions in front of his parents’ guests, not with everyone watching.”
She took a breath, her mind racing through the plan, looking for holes.
“Aubrey, you distract his parents—ask them a question about the
