Inside the reception hall, everything looked perfect. Guests laughed with champagne flutes in hand. Rowan glowed with a happiness so blinding it softened every line in her face. And Arthur sat beside her, his arm draped casually behind her chair, smiling like a man who had already won the game. When Caleb walked up to the emcee and whispered something, I felt my pulse begin to race. Moments later, the music faded, and the room shifted its attention toward him. He began like any brother giving a heartfelt toast, speaking warmly, disarmingly, easing the crowd into a sense of comfort. Then, with a pivot so subtle it took a moment to register, he dropped the first question: “Arthur, how’s your ex-wife? Is she still waiting for the alimony checks?” Laughter rippled lightly, confused, unsure if this was a joke. But Caleb didn’t smile. Instead, he continued — about the lawsuits, the bankruptcy, the debts. The murmurs grew louder, the guests stilled, Rowan’s smile fell away, and Arthur’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. Caleb held up his phone, offering the nearest guests a look at the documents. “These aren’t rumors,” he said. “They’re court records. Public information. Things he hid from my mother. And from Rowan.” The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Rowan stood slowly, trembling. “Is it true?” she asked Arthur. He stumbled, stuttered, reached for excuses already collapsing in midair. And Rowan — God bless her — cut through the lies with a single whisper: “No more.” She walked to me then, collapsing into my arms as the entire reception dissolved into chaos around us.
