Nobody is looking at the bride anymore.
Harold tries to recover. He’s spent 62 years recovering. It’s what he does. Builds back the smile, adjusts the handshake, resets the narrative.
“Eleanor, let’s not overreact.”
He puts on his country club voice. Warm. Reasonable. Man-to-man.
Except she’s not a man, and she’s not buying it.
“It was a silly joke. You know how families are.”
“I know how my family is,” Eleanor says. “We don’t put our children’s medical records on a screen for entertainment.”
She turns to Garrett.
“Son, I think we need to have a conversation privately tonight.”
Garrett nods. He’s been watching Paige since the reveal. His expression isn’t anger. It’s something worse. It’s reevaluation.
He looks at his bride and says,
“You told me Thea was unstable. You said she had issues, that she was jealous of you.”
Paige’s voice cracks.
“She is jealous.”
“She’s a licensed architect with awards, Paige. And you put infertile on a screen at our wedding.”
Harold steps toward Eleanor, dropping his voice to a register that probably works in boardrooms.
“Let’s talk about the Oakdale partnership. This has nothing to do with—”
Eleanor raises her hand. One gesture. That’s all it takes.