Father Michael kept his voice measured. Thirty minutes earlier, he explained, he had walked past an open side door and heard Tony and Aunt Molly talking outside. They apparently believed they were alone.
He looked at my brother. “You said you hoped Mark would betray Rebecca at the reception so she would finally suffer the way you suffered when your family overlooked you.”
A shocked murmur moved through the pews. Tony’s face lost all color.
Father Michael then faced Molly. “And you assured him that life would eventually break her.”
I felt physically ill. My own brother and aunt had come to my wedding while hoping my marriage would collapse.
Dad rose from the front pew. “Tell me he misunderstood.”
Tony stared at the floor. Molly tightened both hands around her purse but said nothing.
Mark left the altar and came to me. He didn’t make a scene or threaten anyone. He simply took my shaking hand and asked Father Michael for a few minutes.
“Becca,” Tony finally whispered, “I was angry. I didn’t mean I would do anything.”
“You meant enough to say it on my wedding day.” My voice cracked, but I refused to shout. “And you, Aunt Molly—you encouraged him.”
Molly muttered that people said ugly things when they were hurting. That answer only deepened the wound. Pain might explain cruelty, but it did not erase responsibility.
Father Michael opened the side door. “This ceremony is meant to begin with honest vows, not concealed malice. Please step outside.”
Neither of them argued as they left.
