She didn’t push.
She just started pulling out the veils I’d ordered. Expensive ones. Silk. Black. Deep burgundy. Champagne cream.
I didn’t like makeup anymore.
Gloss was enough.
A veil covered the rest.
Dark dress. Fitted. Structured. Elegant enough to look intentional.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
I looked like mourning.
“Ready?” my cousin asked softly.
“No,” I said.
But I walked anyway.
$$$$$
Security was posted at every exit of the building.
I didn’t notice it at first.
But when we got downstairs, and I saw the same two men from yesterday shift positions when I moved, I understood.
I wasn’t staying here for my health.
I was being kept.
And I didn’t even know why they wanted me home so bad.
We drove to the brunch in the back of my father’s Rolls.
When we got there, it was music.
Laughter.
Champagne flutes clinking.
My aunt ran up and hugged me like nothing in the world was wrong.
“Look at you,” she beamed.
I smiled under the veil.
I stayed quiet.
I lasted twenty-seven minutes before my grandfather, Devon Wells Sr., tapped my shoulder.
“Come with us.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
The tone was enough.
