There were other signs I should have noticed, little red flags waving in the peripheral vision of my hope and generosity. Like the time in June when I suggested meeting with the wedding planner together. “Oh, Mrs. Rivers, that’s sweet,” Taylor had said with a dismissive wave, “but you’d be bored to tears. It’s just going over table arrangements and timeline details. Super tedious stuff.”
Or when I asked about my role in the ceremony—what I should wear, where I’d be sitting, whether I might say a few words. “We’re still figuring out all those details,” Avery had replied vaguely. “Don’t worry, Mom. You’ll know everything in plenty of time.”
The most painful moment came when I asked about a grandmother-granddaughter lunch with Sophie, just the two of us, so I could share some wisdom about marriage and life. “She’s so swamped right now, Mom,” Taylor had said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Between finishing school and planning the wedding and her new job starting in October, she barely has time to breathe. But she loves you so much. She talks about you all the time.”