It was a story Louisa had repeated for years. It wasn’t true, and Louisa knew it, but her greed and self-importance made her insist. Everyone, including Louisa, had seen and read our grandfather’s actual will.
There was no condition. There was no prize. Still, Louisa seemed to think that if she bullied everyone with her made-up story, they would relent and let her have her way, and she could finally become rich without lifting a finger.
Carol slid the envelope across the table. Standing there at my wedding, I held that envelope high. “I went along with my sister’s lie for too long because correcting her felt cruel.
We all did, but I didn’t think it would go this far.”
Louisa shook her head violently. “Don’t,” she whispered. I opened the envelope and read the relevant clause aloud.
Slowly, carefully, with no dramatics. The guests listened because I gave them a reason to. The moment I finished reading, Louisa went rigid.
For half a second, she looked stunned, as if the words had knocked the air out of her lungs. Then her face twisted, and she lost it! “No!” she screamed, stepping toward me.
“That’s not true. You’re lying!”
A ripple of shock moved through the guests
I could hear people shifting in their seats, murmuring under their breath. “You forged that,” Louisa went on, her voice climbing higher.
“You had to have forged it. Grandma promised the inheritance to me!”
I lowered the paper but kept hold of the microphone. “Louisa, stop,” I said, my hands shaking.
“She promised it to the one who got married first!” Louisa shouted, no longer pretending. She jabbed a finger toward me. “She said it would be mine if I were the first bride.
Mine!”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. I saw heads turn. I saw faces change as understanding clicked into place.
“That’s why you did all this?” I asked, unable to stop myself. “That’s why you wore that dress and ruined my cake?”
“You can’t take that from me!” she screamed. Tears streamed down her face, but her voice was pure fury.
“You don’t get to have everything! You already have him and this wedding. That money was supposed to be my future!”
“There was never any money tied to that.
You knew that. We all read the will.”
“You were supposed to wait!” she shouted back. “You were supposed to let me go first.
Everyone was supposed to let me go first!”
The words hung there, ugly and undeniable. That was when our aunt stood up from her chair, her voice cutting clean through the chaos. “Enough,” she said.
“Claire’s telling the truth. There was no promise. There never was.”
Louisa froze.
She looked around, desperate now, searching for someone, anyone, to agree with her. No one did. Aunt Carol continued.
“It’s true. All of it.”
In that moment, the mourning dress stopped being dramatic and became pathetic. It was no longer about grief, symbolism, or hurt feelings.
It was about entitlement, plain and exposed, standing in front of everyone. Louisa let out a broken sound, turned on her heel, and walked away without another word. And that was when I knew she’d never forget that lesson.
It took some time for everyone and everything to settle back to normal. The caterers assured a new cake was ready, yet it paled in comparison to the original’s exquisite perfection. Later that night, as Mark and I sat by the pool, he squeezed my hand.
“You did the right thing.”
I watched the water and felt lighter than I had in years. Louisa never forgot that day, not because she was embarrassed, but because she learned that her lies only survived in the dark. Was the main character right or wrong?
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