“I need it removed from the ballroom.”
Brooke’s expression changed immediately.
“What are you doing?”
I kept my voice even.
“You’ve made it clear you don’t want my contribution here.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You said you don’t want me here.”
“The cake is part of the wedding!”
“And I paid for it.”
The employee looked helplessly toward the banquet captain.
The captain approached, recognized me, and glanced at the paperwork on his clipboard.
“Mrs. Bennett is the purchaser listed on the cake order,” he said carefully.
Brooke’s face flushed.
“You cannot be serious.”
I had never intended to embarrass her in front of anyone.
I had simply reached the first moment in eight months when I could no longer pretend that paying for something meant I also had to accept being mistreated beside it.
“Please take it to the kitchen,” I repeated.
The employee began moving the wheeled cake cart toward the service doors.
Brooke rushed after him.
“Stop!”
Her voice echoed against the ballroom walls.
“That is my wedding cake!”
She grabbed the edge of the stand as the cart moved.
“Brooke, let go,” I said.
Her heel caught beneath the layers of her gown.
The stand tilted.
For one terrible second, I watched the three white tiers slide sideways.
Then the entire cake collapsed onto Brooke.
White buttercream covered her hair, her veil, her shoulders, and the front of her expensive wedding dress.
A sugar rose bounced across the carpet and stopped against my shoe.
Nobody moved.
Brooke sat among crushed cake layers, staring at the frosting dripping from her hands.
I was too stunned to speak until she looked at me with naked hatred.
“Well,” I said, hearing the disbelief in my own voice, “I guess you can have it now.”
Her scream brought Daniel running through the ballroom doors.
He stopped when he saw his bride.
“What happened?”
Brooke pointed at me.
“Your mother did this!”
“Daniel, she grabbed the cake stand and lost her balance.”
“She was stealing my cake!” Brooke shrieked.
“I was having it taken back to the kitchen because she ordered me to leave.”
Daniel looked at me as though I had suddenly become a stranger.
The clock above the ballroom entrance showed less than an hour before the ceremony.
Brooke wiped frosting from her cheek and grabbed his sleeve.
“She cannot stay here.”
I waited for my son to ask why his bride had tried to send his mother away.
Instead, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Mom, maybe you should go home.”
My breath caught.
“Daniel, are you really asking me to leave your wedding?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Brooke tightened her grip on his arm.
“Tell her,” she demanded.
My son finally looked directly at me, and the answer in his expression came before the words.
“Mom, please just go.”
