My daughter, Pearl, barred me from her wedding when I warned her about her fiancé, Craig, thinking I was spoiling her joy. But I knew his dark secret, and with a hidden recording, I showed up to expose his lies, protecting her from a devastating mistake.
One serene Saturday, I tended my violets and ivy, plants that grew without judgment, a comfort as I neared 60 and faced more solitude. Pearl, my daughter, was busy with her own life, and I missed our cozy talks over tea. The doorbell rang, and there she was, radiant, with a bakery box. “Mama!” she grinned, settling in. Over tea, she flashed a ring. “Craig proposed! Wedding’s next week!” I hugged her, but worry crept in. “So soon?” I asked. Her face hardened. “Why can’t you support me?” she said, storming out, though she softened, promising to involve me.
Next morning, Pearl asked me to help choose flowers. The shop’s earthy scent recalled her childhood weeding days. Craig was there, his smile too slick, his eyes glued to his phone. He stepped away after a call, muttering, “Be right back.” His tense demeanor raised my suspicions. I followed and overheard him in the bathroom: “She believes it all. The money’s ours soon. I love you, Lillie.” My stomach dropped. He was betraying Pearl, plotting with someone named Lillie. I told Pearl, but she lashed out. “You’re ruining my happiness!” she cried. Craig denied everything, and Pearl banned me from the wedding. “Don’t come,” she said. I left, heartbroken.
Sleepless, I replayed Craig’s words. Pearl thought I was against her, but I had to act. I found my brother’s old dictaphone, a tool from his journalism days. If Pearl wouldn’t trust me, she’d trust evidence. On her wedding day, I wore a calm blue dress, clutching a gift bag. Pearl stood outside, beautiful but tense in her lace gown. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t miss your day.” She hugged me, whispering, “No more fights.” Spotting Craig, I apologized for my doubts, slipping the dictaphone into his jacket during a brief hug. He didn’t notice.
As Pearl walked the aisle, I saw Lillie, a bridesmaid, whisper to Craig. When the minister asked for objections, I raised my hand. Murmurs spread. “Craig has my device,” I said, pulling out the dictaphone. I played it: “She’s falling for it. The money’s ours,” Craig said, followed by Lillie’s, “She won’t see it.” Pearl’s bouquet fell, her face pale. Craig stood speechless as guests gasped. He and Lillie vanished. Pearl, tears falling, approached me. “I should’ve listened,” she sobbed. I held her. “Love clouds us,” I said. “I’ve got you.” The garden outside bloomed, a sign we’d rise above the pain, together.
