It stopped and rang again.
Dad.
And again.
Dad.
Julian leaned close to my ear. “You don’t have to answer that.”
I stared at the glowing screen.
For the first time in thirty-one years, my fear of disappointing my father completely disappeared.
I picked up the phone.
I stood from my chair.
I walked into the center of the ballroom.
And I answered on speakerphone in front of everyone.
“What the hell is Julian doing?!”
My father didn’t even say hello. His furious voice exploded through the speaker into the quiet hall.
“Hello, Dad,” I said calmly.
“Tell your husband to stop reading private communications out loud!” he barked. “This is an absolute disgrace!”
I almost laughed bitterly.
Apparently, turning my wedding into a public lesson in humility was perfectly acceptable.
But exposing their own words was somehow disgraceful.
“I just have one question for you, Dad,” I said.
“I don’t have time for your childish games, Maya!”
“Did you write those emails?”
Silence.
“Maya…”
“Did you write them?”
He took a long breath. “You are taking everything completely out of context.”
That was all I needed.
The anger disappeared, replaced by cold clarity.
My father rushed to defend himself, arguing over speakerphone that Chloe was building crucial professional connections in Bali. He insisted one of her friends had direct ties to major resort executives and that the trip could lead to deals worth hundreds of thousands of dollars for her brand.
According to him, I was reacting purely out of emotion.
“A wedding lasts a few hours, Maya,” he declared firmly. “A major career opportunity can alter the course of a lifetime.”
“Then maybe you should have married Chloe,” I replied.
A nervous wave of laughter moved through the nearest table.
