“What are you thinking?”
He grabbed his phone. “The salon has cameras. Mom bragged about it once.
It clicked.
“The footage,” I whispered. “You want the footage.”
“Yes,” he said. “She loves an audience.
Let’s give her one.”
The next day, he went to the salon “for a haircut.”
Later, he told me he asked Marlene to talk privately, laid out the date and time, and said the word “lawyer” a few times. Emotional distress. Evidence.
Reputation.
She handed him a USB from the security system without much of a fight.
There I was, sitting in the chair. Calm. Trusting.
Marlene moved behind me.
Elaine sat beside us with her latte.
Then we heard it.
Elaine’s voice, clear as day: “Cut it all. She’ll never marry my son looking like this. I’ll pay double if she cries when she sees it.”
I felt my blood run cold.
Alex paused the video and turned to me.
“You’re not overreacting. She did this on purpose.”
We sat on the couch, staring at the frozen image of her face, while he held me.
We decided not to warn her. If we confronted her first, she’d twist it, cry, and spin a story to everyone else.
So we waited.
Wedding day came.
My makeup artist worked magic. The dress was simple and elegant. The pixie looked softer, more intentional.
People kept saying, “You look so chic,” and “I love this cut on you.”Continue reading…
