Something cold settled deep in my stomach.
I looked at Emma, expecting shock.
What I saw was worse. She wasn’t surprised at all.
She looked defeated.
“I told Dad you were welcome to come,” Emma said quietly.
Sophie whirled on her. “You knew she was coming?”
“Not until three days ago.”
The whole story came out in pieces, right there in the middle of the dance floor.
Three days before the wedding, Tom had casually mentioned that he’d be bringing Kristen. Emma had called him that night. She’d told him Kristen was welcome. But she’d been very clear about her boundaries. No stepping into family photographs unless Emma asked. No changing arrangements. No toast.
“I told him I barely know you,” Emma said, turning to Kristen. “I said I wanted you to feel welcome, but I didn’t want to pretend we had a relationship we don’t have yet.”
Kristen’s face crumpled. “He told me the complete opposite.”
Emma closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” Kristen said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”
And suddenly every strange moment from earlier that evening rearranged itself in my mind.
Kristen stepping into the parents’ photo, then glancing at Emma for approval. Kristen fussing over the seating chart. Kristen with that folded toast in her hand.
