my first sip. “I know you’ve helped a lot. I do. But you make everything about you. The planning, the money, the decisions. It’s like this is your wedding, not mine. I’ve spent $47,000.”
She acted as though mentioning the amount proved her point.
There it was again.
The number.
According to her, I was always throwing it around.
But it wasn’t manipulation.
It was a fact.
She crossed her arms, and something changed in her expression.
Not guilt.
Not gratitude.
Something harder.
Then she said, “Everyone keeps telling
