Two days before our wedding, I stood barefoot in the catering kitchen of a beautiful North Carolina estate, still wearing the white dress from our rehearsal dinner, and heard the man I was supposed to marry explain why he had chosen me.
## Part 2
I opened my laptop.
“I’m checking now.”
The estate’s Wi-Fi was sluggish.
A
loading circle spun for thirteen seconds.
Then the account appeared.
I stopped breathing.
“What?” Nora asked.
“The balance.”
“What about it?”
“It’s wrong.”
Our wedding account should have contained slightly over eighteen thousand dollars after the deposits already paid.
Instead, it showed $9,460.
I opened the transaction history.
Several transfers were unfamiliar.
$1,250.
$975.
$1,500.
$840.
$1,300.
Six transfers over five months.
All sent to one business account.
Briar North Consulting LLC.
“Nora.”
“I’m here.”
“I found something.”
I started capturing screenshots.
Nora didn’t tell me to calm down.
She knew me too well.
Instead, she said, “Document first. Feel later.”
So I did.
At 1:06 a.m., another detail surfaced.
A recurring lunch appointment on the shared calendar Ryan had insisted we use for wedding planning.
Every Thursday.
12:15 p.m.
N.B.
The initials appeared fourteen weeks straight.
Natalie Brooks.
My stomach
