The question should have been simple. He was my son, my only child, the boy I’d raised. But I thought about the distance that had grown between us, the way his visits always coincided with needing something, the fact that he’d never once asked how I was coping with being a widow. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Send me copies of all those contracts,” Martin said gently. “Every single one. I’m going to review them. Just to be safe.”
Three days later, Martin called me back with news that made my blood run cold. I’d been overcharged by at least fifteen thousand dollars. The venue package included services I didn’t need and wouldn’t notice. The catering was inflated. And Taylor had registered a business last November called “Sophie’s Dream Events”—a wedding planning company. They’d been using Sophie’s wedding as a portfolio piece, inflating the costs, building a business on my dime while systematically cutting me out of communications.
“There’s something else,” Martin said, his voice heavy. “Two weeks ago, Avery sent emails to every vendor requesting they remove you from their communications and direct everything to him and Taylor. He’s cutting you out of an event you’re paying for.” He paused. “Amelia, when was the last time Sophie called you?”
I tried to remember. “Easter,” I whispered. Four months ago.
“I think you need to prepare yourself,” Martin said gently, “for the possibility that they don’t want you at this wedding.”
Those words echoed in my head as Martin drafted a legal letter clearly stating that I was the financial sponsor and legal host of the event, that all communications must include me, and that no changes could be made without my written approval. “Send it,” I told him, and I meant it. I was done being an ATM that walked and talked.
The letter went out on a Friday afternoon. By Saturday morning, I had twenty-three missed calls from Avery. I didn’t answer any of them. Instead, I went to my volunteer shift at the animal shelter, walking dogs and cleaning kennels while my phone vibrated endlessly in my locker. When I finally listened to the messages that evening, they ranged from confused to angry to almost threatening.