Chapter 6
852words
She invited everyone she could think of, from distant relatives connected by blood or marriage, to her parents' colleagues and neighbors of decades, to those familiar faces in the community who controlled the direction of public opinion. This was a list of nearly a hundred people, a dragnet cast over Dad's social circle.
My grandparents were well aware of this. They didn't ask a single question, just unconditionally cooperated with Mom's arrangements. Grandpa was responsible for contacting his old colleagues who had held high positions before retirement, while Grandma repeatedly confirmed the menu with the banquet chef, ensuring that each dish would evoke guests' memories of better times.
I became Mom's chief scheduling assistant, mediating between countless phone calls and emails every day, booking venues, selecting bands, arranging seating—each task following Mom's instructions with absolute precision. A strange atmosphere permeated the entire house: busy, tense, yet with a touch of cold anticipation.
In the calm before this storm, Mom finally gave the signal of invitation to her prey.
She sent a text message to Dad, simple and dignified: "It's my parents' golden wedding anniversary. As their son-in-law, you should come. Regardless of the issues between us, don't make the elderly sad."
I saw Dad reply almost instantly: "Of course, I'll be there."
Right after, he called Aunt Rachel. Mom placed her phone on the table and activated the monitoring program we had already installed, from which came Dad's triumphant voice.
"Katherine has given in," he said to Rachel, and I could imagine him leaning back on the sofa with that smug smile on his face, thinking he had everything under control. "She invited me to her parents' golden wedding anniversary. You should come too, let everyone see that our relationship is legitimate and aboveboard."
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then Aunt Rachel's hesitant voice came through: "I... I should go too? Katherine's parents... they won't want to see me."
"What are you afraid of?" Dad's tone carried a hint of impatience and condescension. "The more you hide, the more guilty you appear. When you go, just be natural and confident, let those gossips see that we don't care what they say at all. This is actually a good opportunity for you to turn your image around."
I saw a cold smile curl at the corners of Mom's lips; she knew the fish had taken the bait.
Aunt Rachel was clearly persuaded by the "victor" image Dad had painted. After weeks of social death, she desperately needed an opportunity to prove she wasn't a failure hiding in dark corners, despised by everyone.
"Good," she finally made up her mind. "I'll go. I'm going to wear my prettiest dress, and I want all of them to see that I'm doing very well, a hundred times better than if I had stayed with your sister who only knows how to pretend!"
Dad laughed with satisfaction on the phone, as if he could already see them as victors, receiving the envious gazes of everyone.
Their arrogance was the most perfect element in Mom's plan. They underestimated the energy that could be unleashed by a woman driven to desperation, and overestimated their own resistance to moral judgment and public opinion.
The day before the banquet, Mom and I came to the pre-booked hotel ballroom to do the final venue confirmation. The entire hall was already decorated magnificently—the champagne tower glittered under the crystal lights, the band was testing the sound system, and the huge screen was scrolling through black and white photos of Grandpa and Grandma when they were young.
Everything looked so warm and beautiful.
I watched Mom standing in the center of the hall, quietly gazing at the huge screen. Her figure seemed somewhat frail, yet her back remained perfectly straight.
"Mom, are you ready?" I asked softly.
Mom didn't turn around, her gaze still fixed on that screen, her voice calm without the slightest ripple.
"I'm ready," she said. "Tomorrow, I will let them know what the price of betrayal is."
As she spoke, she took out a small metal USB drive from her bag and waved it in front of my eyes. I knew it contained all the evidence she had collected over these past few months—those damning photos, the incriminating phone recordings between him and Rachel, detailed hotel check-in records, and videos of them together in Rachel's small apartment, taken by the private investigator at great risk.
This was the golden wedding anniversary "gift" Mom had prepared for Dad and Aunt Rachel.
She handed the USB drive to the technician responsible for the audio-visual playback at the venue, whispering a few instructions. Then, she turned around, took my hand, and in those eyes that were once as gentle as water, there now flickered a resolute and determined light that I had never seen before.
Mom looked at me and said, word by word: "Tomorrow, you will see a different mother."
