I think that was the moment I knew.
Everything lined up too perfectly.
And after months of dealing with Mavis, I trusted my instincts.
I pulled out my phone.
The photo I’d sent Ryan was still sitting in our messages.
Ninety-six invitations.
Perfectly stacked.
Dead center.
I showed her.
“Mavis.”
“What?”
“That’s almost two feet from the edge.”
She stared at the picture.
“How did they slide from there?”
“I already told you.”
“I bumped the table,” she said in a high pitch.
“That’s impossible.”
I pointed between the table and the bucket.
“So you knocked the table hard enough to send all the invites flying, but didn’t even spill a drop from the bucket?”
She crossed her arms.
“I don’t appreciate being interrogated.”
“You destroyed our wedding invitations.”
“It was an accident.”
“All ninety-six?”
“I don’t know what you’re implying.”
Before I could respond, the front door opened.
Ryan had come home about twenty minutes earlier than expected.
“What happened?”
Mavis answered immediately.
“Tell her she’s overreacting. It was an accident.”
Ryan didn’t move.
“What was?”
She sighed.
“I knocked the invitations into the mop bucket.”
Ryan looked at me.
