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The living room smelled of expensive potpourri and greed.
I sat stiffly on Eleanor’s velvet sofa, one hand resting over the small curve of my four-month pregnancy. I was exhausted, nauseous, and counting the minutes until I could leave.
My name is Maya. I was twenty-nine, the founder of a successful digital marketing firm, and I had spent years building a life no one could take from me.
Then I made one terrible mistake.
I fell in love with Julian.
He sat beside me, scrolling on his phone like none of this involved him. He was handsome, charming, and completely useless. His so-called tech startup had been losing money for years, kept alive by his mother’s excuses and my quiet financial help.
We were supposed to be married in six weeks.
That evening, we were at Eleanor’s house to discuss “final wedding details.” The wedding budget had started at fifty thousand dollars, all paid by me. But Eleanor, desperate to impress her rich friends, had turned it into a ridiculous show of fake wealth.
“The florist needs another ten thousand by tomorrow,” Eleanor said, tapping her nails against a stack of invoices. “And the caterer won’t confirm the lobster and wagyu menu without a bigger deposit today.”
I stared at the papers as my stomach tightened.
“I’ve already paid eighty thousand dollars,” I said. “The venue, the band, the deposits. I’m not emptying my savings or touching company money before the baby is born. We don’t need imported orchids, and we can serve chicken.”
Julian finally looked up.
“Babe, come on,” he whined. “It’s our special day. It reflects our brand. Mom worked hard on this. You have the money. Just cover it.”
I looked at him, and for the first time, the fantasy cracked.
“You haven’t paid one dollar for this wedding,” I said. “Your company hasn’t made profit in years. I’m funding this entire circus, and I’m done.”
I stood, grabbed my purse, and turned toward the door.
“If you want lobster and orchids, Eleanor, pay for them yourself.”
I expected yelling.
I didn’t expect the mask to fall.